


Just a Year

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cute Jim Moriarty, Dark Sherlock, Drama, Fluff and Smut, Horny Sherlock, Humor, M/M, Sexy Jim Moriarty, dangerous jim moriarty, romance and sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 15:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 127,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13527426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Sherlock has a dark secret and a secret wish. When the two collide in the form of Jim Moriarty, he accepts the latter's indecent proposal and embarks on the most scintillating journey of his lifetime. The question is, can he ever find a destination?(STORY COMPLETED)





	1. 13 years later

**Prologue**

Two men rushed through the streets of Kabul, dodging people and jumping over obstacles, ducking under awnings and overhanging objects. The one running ahead was a man of about thirty, strong and swift, determined to give his pursuer the slip through his sheer stamina and better understanding of the area.

 

But what he didn’t know was that the man chasing after him was just twenty, much quicker and agile than him and in the possession of superior intellect and anticipation, someone who could outmaneuver him on any given day. His stamina was also double of the older man, hence he could keep running till the cows came home and not be out of breath. The same couldn’t be said of the one he was chasing.

 

As they came to a crowded market area, the man ahead tried his best to blend into the crowd or find a place to hide. He tried the vegetable cart, the baskets, the horse drawn carriage, the old rusty vehicle and even a restaurant. But everywhere his chaser found him and soon a fisticuff ensued, resulting in several broken pots and vases and loud curses from the locals who were disturbed and scared of this fight in equal parts. Soon their anger boiled over and the two men were forced to get away. Using that opportunity the older man found the perfect way to give his assailant the slip. He donned an abaya, the local attire of the women in Afghanistan, and hid amidst some women at a small shelter meant for kids and ladies.

 

As minutes passed and no signs were seen of the chasing assassin, he relaxed and was about to get away when someone removed his niqab.

 

A pair of fiery green eyes looked at him in contempt. His assassin had read his move again and entered the shelter dressed like a woman, just like he had done.

 

“You are making a mistake,” he cried out.

 

“No, I am not,” said his attacker.

 

“You are young, naïve, they fooled you into thinking I am the enemy.”

 

“Even for someone like you, this is low. Pretending to be a good man disguised as a spy doesn’t suit you Johan.”

 

“No, wait, let me explain….” The older man looked for something inside his pocket.

 

“NO,” the younger one shouted and, without thinking twice, pulled the trigger.

 

The women around them screamed and rushed out, the kids crying in fear and lost in the mayhem. Amidst all this the younger man, with his bouncy curls and green eyes, removed the black abaya and walked out coolly, happy with his accomplishment. The biggest enemy of England and several other countries, Johan Woznick, was dead. He didn’t intend to kill the man but this was self-defense. Had Johan not tried to retrieve his gun and cooperated with him, he would have never……

 

“Sherlock!”

 

The twenty-year-old was surprised to see his elder brother, already a high posted official in the British intelligence at twenty-seven, enter the scene with several other men he recognized as MI6 operatives. Alexander Mycroft Timothy Holmes, popularly known as Mycroft, Myc or simply the Iceman, looked at the still and lifeless body of Johan Woznick and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. To Sherlock’s utter surprise, his elder brother went straight to the man he had killed and quickly instructed his men to check him for any signs of life. “Do what you can to save him, hurry,” he said.

 

One of the senior operatives looked at Sherlock in annoyance and said, “You really pulled the trigger?”

 

“Hey, it was self-defense,” Sherlock raised both hands.

 

“It is he who has the bruises,” said the operative.

 

“He was pulling a gun on me.”

“Is it? He has no gun. Look at his pockets. Yes, I am searching him, he has nothing called a weapon in his possession. What he was trying to pull out was this.”

 

Every operative gave Sherlock the cross-eyed angry look. It was an identity card. Johan Robert Woznick, an MI6 operative and popularly known as Agent 05. There was also a host of information on the card which cemented the real and true identity of the man.

 

“That man was on our side,” Mycroft looked at Sherlock, disappointed, upset and a bit afraid, yes afraid. Sherlock had never seen him afraid, except at this moment. He shuffled his feet, suddenly feeling fear as well. Had he made a huge error of judgment?

 

“I was given a job by Cabinet Minister Cary Rutgers and I……” Sherlock began to explain when Mycroft raised his hand to stop him.

 

“You were played.”

 

“Then who was he?”

 

“One of our agents. One of our best agents. He was on a mission and along with him have died a host of secrets he had managed to extract. As for Ms. Rutgers, she is in police custody for treason and theft. She used your superior intelligence, your physical abilities to chase a man down half way across the world and your extreme eagerness to prove yourself as a detective to gun down someone who was about to expose a big conspiracy against the British premier.”

 

Sherlock just stood there and gaped at the dead man who was now being put in a body bag.

 

Every word he had heard from the man, the fear and despondency he had seen in those eyes, everything came back to him. Shame hung heavy in his limbs and he stood rooted to the spot, watching as the proof of his mistake was swiftly erased by his brother and his men. As everyone cleared out, taking the body with them, Mycroft turned to give him a withering look. “I know you want to prove yourself Sherlock,” the cold as ice voice froze the blood in his veins, “I know you want to prove it to yourself, to mummy and daddy, to me, that you are neither slow nor a coward. You are tough, you can do something incredible with the talent you have. Unfortunately you proved yourself otherwise.”

 

Sherlock let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding back.

 

He had fucked it up big time. A twenty-year-old youngster trying to play hardball, trying to show he had grown up, he had arrived. Instead he had proved he was not ready, he was still raw and subject to manipulation like any normal person.

 

And Sherlock hated being told he was just normal. He wanted to get away from normalcy, normalcy wasn’t something he aspired to.

 

Mycroft shook his head and spoke in that judgment laden voice of his.

 

“You proved only one thing, there is no fool like a young fool. You might become a great detective, a great inventor, a philosopher per excellence, but right now you are none of those things. You tried too hard and too soon, ignored my advice and just jumped into this pit, only to get stung by the fire you started yourself. This mistake will haunt you for a lifetime. This shows one must be ready for a task they have undertaken and not try to jump the gun too soon. Remember, Johan Woznick. Never forget him, never forget this day, never forget this mistake you made.”

Mycroft walked away but his words did not. They kept echoing in Sherlock’s ears. He tried to block out those words, the sound of his brother’s condescending voice, but to no success. They kept growing louder and louder.

 

“No, stop, no, stop,” he cried out, placing his hands over his ears. But all he kept hearing was _‘This mistake will haunt you for a lifetime.’_ He tried to resist, tried to run, but the words chased him relentlessly till he screamed out his lungs in frustration.

 

 

**Chapter 1**

_13 years later, London_

 

“Sherlock are you all right?”

 

Sherlock found himself in bed, covers kicked down, exposing his nakedness right up to his lower waist. He looked into the anxious and slightly worried face of his friend, housemate and colleague Dr John Hamish Watson. “Yeah,” he said, sighing with relief when the sounds of John’s voice slowly drowned out the noise his brain had retained all these years with meticulous care, “Yeah, I am fine. Just fine. Can I have a glass of water please?”

 

“Yes of course Sherlock,” John poured some water from the jug and handed the glass to Sherlock who drained it in seconds. He was thirsty, his lungs and mouth were burning, but he knew water was not going to make the cut. It never did. This thirst was something else, something all-consuming and crippling, something debilitating from his past. He had to get busy, he had to divert his attention to something else more compelling than his nightmares. But in a decade he hadn’t managed to do that so today wouldn’t be any exception. He hung his head and took in a few gulping breaths while extending the glass towards John for a refill.

 

John poured some more but this time Sherlock took a mere few sips and put the glass back on the nightstand.

 

“I know I shouldn’t ask again but you know I will, nonetheless,” John said, “What happened?”

 

“Nothing,” Sherlock reached for his pajamas and wore them, keeping himself under the blankets till he had covered up his modesty, “I woke up.”

 

“Not now, I mean in the past,” John asked sincerely.

 

“Nothing. Just a nightmare.”

 

“Yeah, a nightmare that comes back to you three times a week.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about John. Where is our tea? Didn’t Mrs. Hudson get it for us this morning?”

 

John sighed aloud and said, “Living room.”

 

He knew Sherlock wouldn’t talk. Despite their friendship, despite their closeness, despite all they had been through in the past two years, this was one part of Sherlock’s psyche, his life, which even John didn’t have access to. Now and then he got a glimpse of it through that stricken look in his friend’s green eyes but the moment he looked too long at it, Sherlock brought the curtain down and shut it out.

 

***

 

“Can you please wear your deerstalker?”

 

“Do I have to?”

 

“Yes please, that’s so iconic, thanks to you.” Sherlock glared at the lady who was about to take his interview. He hated interviews and attention and yet those two things came to him in droves nowadays. Fans, people recognizing him on the streets, the media making a spectacle out of him, even celebrities hankering for an encounter with him. Sometimes it felt like slow suffocation but Sherlock knew better than to reject all that. Some time ago, when his arch-nemesis Moriarty had hounded him to death’s door and defamed him thoroughly, Sherlock had learned the value of public support and the belief and faith of people around him. Being considered a fake, a phony, a criminal in disguise was so hurtful that he had almost cracked up.

 

He put on the silly cap.

 

“That’s great, you look so handsome,” she cooed.

 

“Shall we start?” Sherlock barked.

 

“Of course.”

 

The interview went on for some time, Sherlock being his usual sarcastic and wisecracking self. The interviewer, a smart reporter, handled some of the barbs thrown at her and at journalists I general with remarkable ease. Slowly Sherlock offered grudging respect to her. She was not a complete idiot like some of her fellow men and women from the media, she listened well and knew where not to push. Or at least, that’s what he thought till they came towards the end of the interview. “Rapid fire round now,” she said, “You just say one word that comes to your mind the moment I speak about something. Crime.”

 

“Disease,” Sherlock said.

 

“Detective.”

 

“Deductive reasoning.”

 

“That was two words but that will do. England.”

 

“Birthplace.”

 

“Not your home? Okay fine, next one now, Scotland Yard.”

 

“Lestrade.”

 

“Oh that’s your detective inspector and friend, isn’t it? He too has great things to say about you. Now for the last question of this round and I am sure you will enjoy answering this one. So here goes…..Moriarty.”

 

“Alive,” Sherlock said and bit his tongue, regretting his choice of words immediately. What did he just say? How did he even let this slip? He always knew Jim couldn’t have died so easily on that rooftop, that there was some trick involved, that the man was at large and could appear before him any day, but to just admit to his belief like this. Nope, this was just stupidity. He was supposed to hold this thought, this belief, in his mind palace and look for Jim, something he had been doing for months now, and not breathe a word about it to anybody. And now he had done this in a live television interview, in front of a reporter. This was a pretty bad mistake.

 

“You think Moriarty is alive???”

 

“No, I didn’t say that.”

 

“You just said….it’s the first word that came to your mind so pretty much that’s what you believe in, right?”

 

“No. Technically he is dead. I mean to say his intellect, his brilliance, his genius, no matter how evil it is, will always be alive in my hear….I mean to say my mind, in my memories. I offer even my enemies that special reverence one reserves for a truly remarkable talent.”

 

“Oh that’s so sweet. Had he not been a criminal, do you think the two of you might have even been friends?”

 

Sherlock had often debated that point in his head. He had even yearned for a parallel universe where Moriarty and he would have been pals, colleagues, confidantes even. They could have solved mysteries together, fought common enemies, created an empire of some sort, invented some devices, decoded the most difficult messages and solved the most complex of problems known to mathematics and science. He could have taught Moriarty a few tricks and learned a few from that man in return.

 

“Mr. Holmes, I asked if…..”

 

Sherlock looked at her and answered without hesitation, “Yes.”

 

***

 

Sherlock was sitting at a café and reading some case notes. He had been given a case by a professor at the London School of Economics. For three consecutive semesters the question papers had been leaked and he was supposed to find out who was doing that.

 

He was getting closer to his target and that excitement more than made up for the slight tingle of sadness that always lingered through the days when he woke up screaming from his everpresent nightmare. Soon the day would pass and that feeling too.

 

Being a celebrity had its fair share of problems and one of those happened to be the lack of privacy and personal time. He was approached for autographs and selfies with fans and after obliging a few of them, he refused to sign an autograph for a teenager. She didn’t insist again but Sherlock relented when her little brother looked so sad that he felt like a villain. _‘That’s your problem Sherlock, you are too soft, too fragile at times’_. The words of Mycroft came back to him, reminding him yet again about how ordinary he was inside the tough exterior he displayed to others.

 

As he went back to studying his case notes it occurred to him that Mycroft was perhaps his grounding factor. Whenever he flew too high, one or more of Mycroft’s patronizing quotes crashed his flight and brought him back to ground zero. But then his resentment of his brother had lessened considerably, especially after the episode with Eurus and the earlier episode with Magnussen. Mycroft had even admitted that losing Sherlock would break his heart. He had shown his human and fallible side too. Maybe they were even now. Both of them had learned lessons from the past and moved on to a, hopefully, calmer and more collaborative future.

 

Suddenly he felt it.

 

Jim’s presence.

 

A whiff of that expensive yet subtle Tom Ford cologne. A flash of those pearly whites as the man smiled like a shark. That familiar silhouette which announced the man’s arrival and the dark clouds looming over sunny London. For over a year Sherlock had felt this presence but each time it had been a false alarm. He was more circumspect now. He still believed Jim had faked his suicide the same way Sherlock had faked his, but with every passing day the miracle he expected of Jim suddenly appearing out of the blue had seemed less and less probable.

 

Still, as he looked up he saw Jim at the doorway, clad in a smartly tailored Westwood. Okay, so he was not facing Sherlock but the door, so Sherlock could only see the back of his head and the rest of his posterior, but it was the same height, weight, shape, the same dark hairs.

 

His legs started to take him towards the man even as his brain struggled to catch up with the situation. Before he knew it his hand was on the smaller man’s shoulder.

 

“Yes?”

 

Sherlock almost did a facepalm. This was not Jim. In fact, the man was a bit too short and he wore his suit too tight. Jim would not be caught dead in such an ill-fitted suit. “Excuse me,” he said hurriedly, “I thought you were someone else.”


	2. The Enemy Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the darkness of the night, in the privacy of his bedroom, Sherlock encounters a shadow. Or is it a man.

“I am not sure I should be doing this,” Sherlock stated as he hesitated outside the closed door.

 

“He is good,” John reassured him, “I went to him during those dark days when you were….gone. It’s thanks to him that I retained my sanity and could go about my life. I was hesitant too at first but then I talked my heart out and I felt better. Maybe even you would. Worth a try.”

 

Sherlock had been dragged to the shrink John used to visit earlier during the days Sherlock had been declared as deceased. Though he hadn’t exactly been dragged there kicking and screaming, the acerbic detective was still reluctant as he stood before the shrink’s room, staring at the closed door and wondering how another human being with no magical or special powers could cure his malady simply by talking to him and prescribing some meds. But then John’s recommendation had been pretty powerful and insistent and, out of respect for the friend he held dear to his heart, Sherlock had eventually agreed.

 

Agreed to give it a shot, at least.

 

“If you don’t like it, don’t go again. Nobody will force you, including me.”

 

“All right John.”

 

He opened the door and stepped in.

 

The setting was not exactly what he had expected. It was homely and relaxing with warm, earthy colors and lively, bright paintings on the wall. The man himself was quite amiable and had a welcoming, unpolluted smile. He was middle aged, with Sino-British features and skin color. Dr. William Chang, a man of mixed heritage and considerable reputation as someone who had managed to turn around almost impossible cases of disturbance, imbalance and insanity.

 

“Please take a seat, be comfortable,” William said, “For the convenience of speech, call me Bill.”

 

“Yeah, considering we have the same name,” Sherlock shrugged and took a seat.

 

“Tea?”

 

“Yes please.”

 

Much to his relief, the man didn’t start with his case and concentrated on understanding Sherlock’s profession first. He had followed some of the high-profile cases the sleuth had handled in his career and discussed them animatedly with him, slowly drawing him out of his comfort zone and making him open up and start talking. Almost half an hour later, they had the first patient and doctor conversation with Bill asking for some personal details to begin with. “Please give me your name and profession with a brief description please.”

 

“William Sherlock Scot Holmes.”

 

Sherlock paused and thought through the next set of words he was about to use. It had been a while since he had described his profession and what he did to anyone. He was used to being known, being lauded, being appreciated for his deeds. But this was therapy and he guessed that this was his doctor’s way of drawing him out of his shell and making him open up and start speaking of things in his own words, using his own emotions and setting the stage for their next series of conversations. Bill was a bright, intelligent and well-informed man and Sherlock had not begun their interactions by being suspicious and resentful, which was a big win for the doctor. The detective offered him grudging respect for that.

 

“I am a consulting detective. Not exactly a private investigator though I do take on cases from individuals who predominantly want me to investigate certain events or possible events in their lives. But at least I have never had to spy on a rich man’s wife and give him her character report. I mostly take on big cases, sometimes related to the government or some prominent citizen, some involving international crimes and espionage, state secrets or big heists.”

 

“Do you think you are successful?”

 

“Depends. If I have done my best for a case and it was interesting enough, I feel successful even if I haven’t solved it completely or quickly. On the other hand when small cases drop in, or when a case ends on a completely anti-climactic mode, I feel less than successful. It’s boring.”

 

“Do you get bored easily?”

 

“Yes. It has been like this since childhood. I don’t have many peers, or friends, who could alleviate the boredom. Most normal pursuits in life don’t interest me. You know what I mean.”

 

“Yes, I am beginning to get it,” Bill said, “So, what did you normally do to get rid of this boredom, this ennui?”

 

“I used my imagination if all else failed,” Sherlock answered.

 

“Are you still prone to doing it?”

 

Now that was unexpected. Sherlock felt a bit on the backfoot and quickly shot back, “No, why would I use childhood tricks to kill boredom? I start an experiment or read a book or just go around incognito to observe people and their activities. Mostly I take up a case.”

 

“In the recent times, all the recent cases you handled, has there been a challenging one? One worthy enough of your talent and capabilities? I am not asking how large scale the cases were, how important or how quickly or effectively you solved them, but their complexity and depth.”

 

That was an easy answer. Sherlock shook his head. “So, the what has been bothering you of late Sherlock? This lack of interesting, nail biting, brain rattling cases?” Bill asked.

 

“No there are other things,” Sherlock thought hard about sharing the incident involving Johan Woznick and the way it still gave him nightmares but a strange inner force told him not to. It was, after all, a state secret and rather shameful, perhaps the biggest blot on his career. It was not worth discussing, even if there was a doctor-patient confidentiality involved. “This is about someone I lost about three years ago. He was supposed to be my arch enemy, a nemesis, a man who was after my life and determined to make me fall. He pursued me with single-minded devotion, like I always remained at the centerstage of his thoughts, but ever since he died he’s held the centerstage of my thoughts.”

 

“Sort of a role reversal?”

 

“Yes. I have this feeling he didn’t die. He faked it.”

 

“You think your nemesis is alive?”

 

“Jim…..”

 

“Was this Moriarty? He was dreaded by entire England and many other parts of the world, if I remember correctly.”

 

“He was. He was the only man who had invaded my mind-palace….I mean my thoughts and made a permanent position for himself there.”

 

“Did you have feelings for him?”

 

“Feelings!!!”

 

“I mean, there can be different kinds of feelings. Like curiosity, common interests, anger, unresolved issues, envy……”

 

“I did envy him for three things. He didn’t fear pain, death or mistakes. He didn’t care what others thought about him. I once thought I didn’t care either, but recent events in my life have taught me otherwise. I do care. I do suffer because I care. Um…..also one more thing. I had said I had no peers, no intellectual equals, well…..maybe I should have added…..no one aside from Jim. He was everything others are not. He kept saying we were the same. That I was him and he was me. I feel like….exploring that.”

 

“Love?”

 

“What? Love for Jim? Why would you even say something like that? Those are not my words.”

 

“Because it seems to me that you view this person as someone who could have been a true soulmate to you,” Bill said in a completely non-judgmental manner, “Instead of feeling relieved that you have one less enemy in this world you are wondering what it might have been like had he lived. Instead of pointing out his crimes you’re pointing out his attributes, his qualities, his similarities with you. But most importantly, instead of addressing him as Moriarty you have been calling him Jim. A first name and that too perhaps a shorter form, a nickname or moniker. Don’t we usually do this for people we feel a certain closeness with?”

 

Sherlock didn’t feel like confirming or denying this. But it got him thinking and wondering.

 

“Do you have some specific feelings for him?” Bill continued after Sherlock’s prolonged silence, “Do you miss him?”

 

“I keep seeing him,” Sherlock replied.

 

“Is it during those times when you are bored?”

 

***

 

“It went okay.”

 

John squeezed Sherlock’s arm, “C’mon big boy, it was just the first session. It will get better.”

 

Sherlock sighed, “It was going well till he hinted that my visions of Jim, those sightings, that gut feeling I have that he is around and is watching me, it’s all fueled by my imagination. He asked me if I see him only when I am bored or listless, alone or unemployed. I didn’t like that insinuation. I haven’t lost my mind John, seriously, I am not even close to that. I admit Jim is in my mind palace but I can differentiate between when I am with mind palace Jim and real Jim.”

 

“Sherlock….”

 

“I have seen him. It was him. He gave me the slip but he can’t do that forever.”

 

“Sherlock…..”

 

“He must be happy to see how much I am into him. Isn’t that what he always wanted?”

 

“Sherlock stop it. STOP JUST STOP.”

 

Sherlock startled and looked at John who was staring at him with a livid look in his light brown eyes. For a change, the normally calm and unruffled man looked angry. Not just plain anger but a sort of anger that was deep rooted in fear and disappointment as well. He hadn’t seen John like this in a long time, not since the day he returned ‘from the dead’ and got punched on the face for keeping his friend in the dark.

 

“This is why you need to see a shrink Sherlock. This is why you need to get yourself counselled and helped. James Moriarty is dead. He has been dead for three years and four months.”

 

Sherlock went eerily quiet after that. These were moments when he felt terribly lonely, like a small islet amidst miles and miles of rough uncaring sea and its lashing waves. Alone didn’t bother him so much as being lonely in company. The second thing was what had ailed him all through his childhood, of being lonely in school, at home, at the playground despite having classmates, family and friends around him. He had felt stung every single time he was misunderstood and judged by those who never bothered to look at things from his perspective. That had largely shaped his loner persona, the lashing tongue he carried and the completely self-absorbed way he walked through life.

 

He felt like that disheartened little boy again as he stared in dismay at John, good old John, the closest thing he had to a friend and confidante, and realized he had to battle this alone. No point in sharing something that would only get him rebukes, rebuffs and refusals.

 

“I am sorry,” John noticed that expression, “I didn’t mean to lash out like that…..”

 

“No you did. Don’t apologize for being honest John.”

 

“No Sherlock I…..”

 

“I am tired. Going to bed now.”

 

“Wait. What about supper?”

 

“Not hungry.”

 

John stared at Sherlock’s tall frame walking away briskly towards the bedroom and decided to have dinner with Mrs. Hudson that evening. He needed to clear his head, needed some lighthearted conversation, something to give him a good night’s sleep. No way was he going to get that when he felt so frustrated and exasperated. Sometimes his detective friend was impossibly closed and there was no point in trying to dig out stuff from Sherlock during those moments. Things the man didn’t want to even skim the surface of were better relegated to a dark corner or perhaps a room with a big lock on its door.

 

***

 

“More trouble with Sherlock, is it?”

 

John snorted, “And you saw this on a crystal ball?”

 

Mrs. Hudson served the lamb cutlets, chips and salad to John and poured them both a glass of wine each before taking her seat at the kitchen table. She had already had her dinner but she would gladly feed John and give him company while he ate. “When you see a bunch of rowdy boys trying to climb a tree and suddenly one shows up with a cast on his foot,” she said with a pointed look at the doctor, “You don’t need a crystal ball to figure out how he broke his bone, do you? 99% of the time that injury was sustained during that tree climbing episode. You show up for dinner with an old woman at nine in the evening and pretend all is well, what do you think my wise old eyes would make of that eh?”

 

John knew it was futile to attempt a cover up. So he did the next best thing he could do, he played it down.

 

“I wouldn’t call it trouble. Just one of those things we can’t seem to agree on. He sort of clams up when this happens and refuses to talk after that. Or eat.”

 

“Ah. Picky eater, that boy. But a couple don’t always need to agree on everything.”

 

“Hudders, we are not a couple. How many times do I have to…..”

 

“Oh yeah, your usual line, _I am not gay_.”

 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t love him. I care for him deeply and when I see him on a downward spiral I feel helpless and useless. After much cajoling, coaxing and convincing I finally managed to take him to a shrink and he somehow doesn’t want to go again, saying the shrink doesn’t understand him. Just one session and he dismisses it. He won’t let me help him, he won’t let a professional therapist help him, on top of that Mycroft keeps reminding me that he is more fragile than we think……Gawd!”

 

The landlady smiled and nodded, “I know the feeling. Maybe it’s a phase and this too shall pass.”

 

“His nightmares don’t seem to pass, neither do his hallucinations. He wakes up screaming one morning and the same evening he claims that Moriarty is alive and watching him. Maybe the two things are connected, maybe they aren’t, but it’s not comforting to see the episodes increase.”

 

“Oh God. That bad huh?”

 

“I wouldn’t be worried sick if it wasn’t.”

 

“Then maybe you could adopt a different approach. Instead of showing your fear or anxiety for his condition, show empathy and an effort to look at things through his lenses. Gain his trust before you expect him to open up with you and share. Perhaps he doesn’t share because he feels he won’t be believed.”

 

“Oh damn, never looked at it that way Mrs. Hudson. But now I will.”

 

***

 

It was one of those moments when Sherlock was not sure if he was awake or asleep. He had gone to bed in a huff, angry with John, angry with the shrink, angry with the world, angry with the day that had just bitten the dust and even some self-directed anger. He had been fretting and fuming while lying in bed and had slipped into slumber without knowing it. So, when his eyes opened, he wasn’t sure if he had woken up in his dreams or if he was awake for real. He rubbed his eyes and yawned and suddenly had this strange feeling that he was being watched at close quarters.

 

The room was dark, save for a little sliver of street lights and the faint glow from the bedside clock. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he focused on the shadow in one corner of his bedroom.

 

He had just had a small dream about Jim Moriarty. In that dream he had seen Jim trying to fix a car and throwing insulting remarks about the manufacturers, saying they had no head for this and had managed to downgrade the technology instead of upgrading it. Suffused with a small sense of pleasure that he had spoken to his nemesis, even if that was just a dream, he sat up slowly. However, Sherlock quickly lost that pleasant feeling when the hairs on his arms and the back of the neck stood up. That shadow was moving. It was not the shadow was a static object but something living. Someone was in his room.

 

He knew he had enemies. One of them could have sent someone to hurt him.

 

He reached swiftly for the gun that he kept within easy reach and was about to activate the alarm which would send off signals to Mycroft and his surveillance team, indicating that he was in trouble, when a very familiar sing song voice came to his ears.

 

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

 

“Jim?!?”

 

“Real Jim, not a dream. You get very vocal when you dream Sherly.”

 

“No, go away, no, don’t do this to me. You’ll disappear the moment I wake up, you always do!”

 

“Okay them, turn on the lights and pinch your own bottom for me if you pleeeease!”


	3. A dangerous offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is back for a reason.

Sherlock stared.

 

Jim was here. Jim Moriarty. Back from the dead. Or back from hiding. Whatever it was, he was really here.

 

It was the man’s scent that gave him away as real. Usually when Sherlock hallucinated about him under the influence of drugs or dreamt about him at night, he could see him clearly but never smell him. Now he could smell him, the whiff of his fruity cologne, the unique scent of spice and firewood and fresh earth that was Jim’s and only Jim’s fragrance. If he could smell Jim then Jim was really here. After years of believing that he still existed, that he was not dead, he felt both euphoric and vindicated upon seeing the man alive, seeing him stand there in flesh and blood.

 

But there was something different about him.

 

As Sherlock switched on the light and drank in the sight of the man and breathed his scent in deeply, it didn’t escape his notice that Jim was not dressed in the familiar Westwood.

 

Jim was dressed in jeans, yes jeans, ripped at the knees, and a dark maroon hoodie. Sherlock saw a sweater underneath, a navy blue one. On his feet were canvas shoes. He looked less of the marauding business and more like a student, a kid fresh out of University and backpacking across a country. Although Jim was his age, thirty-three or thirty-two, maybe just six months younger than Sherlock was, he looked no older than twenty-five in this new attire.

 

His hairs were messed up in a deliberate manner, some wisps over his forehead, lending a softer and naughtier look to his countenance. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his gaze, that piercing, steely, deep, dark and slightly mad gaze. He still looked dangerous but also incredibly attractive.

 

“Jim.”

 

“The one and oooonly.”

 

“You’re back.”

 

“Never left. Always kept an eye on you.”

 

“Just like Mycroft?”

 

“Oh c’mon, you think I have brotherly feelings towards you?”

 

“Then what sort of feelings do you have for me?”

 

Sherlock had the satisfaction of watching Jim’s arrogance slip for a moment as the criminal replied, “That is complicated.”

 

“Nothing too complicated for Moriarty,” the detective said, feeling strangely thrilled and exhilarated at the sight of his enemy.

 

“Hmmm, let’s see then,” Jim tapped his chin as if he was thinking hard, “When I first heard about you I just felt curiosity and inquisitiveness. I thought ‘here is a man whose brilliance is second only to mine, a man who has a nice arse and a fine pair of eyes’. Then, as you started getting in my way, I started feeling something entirely different. You annoyed and irritated me like the fly constantly buzzing around while someone tries to do something important. Later, as you started to become more and more of an impediment, I felt apathy, dislike, frustration. I wanted to get it over with…..by killing you.”

 

Sherlock stepped forward towards the smaller man, “However, I sense your feelings for me have changed since then.”

 

Jim tilted his head, “Really? Who told you?”

 

“You did.”

 

“Don’t make it up now Sherly, it’s boring, effeminate.”

 

“No. You just said that without using words.”

 

“Oooooh, so you read my thoughts now?”

 

“Nope. I just read between the lines. You did wish to kill me but you didn’t go through with your plan so my deductive powers tell me you had a different intention even then. Yes, maybe you wanted to put me on the backfoot and you did, but eventually you used me to make a great escape. You couldn’t have faked your death so convincingly had I not been present there, dancing to your tunes and believing every word that came out of your mouth.”

 

“Hmmm,” Jim looked interested, “Go on.”

 

“And now, if you’re back claiming you never left and always kept an eye on me then….you have an agenda. Your feelings have changed.”

 

“And what kind of feelings might they be now?”

 

“That is for you to confess.”

 

Jim grabbed his shirt and shoved him against the wall with surprising strength, “Don’t play with me Sherlock.”

 

“Playing with people’s feelings is your forte, not mine.”

 

Jim’s harsh, barking laughter made Sherlock step back a little. He stayed where he was and watched Jim as he laughed his heart out till tears came to his eyes. “Oh my God Sherly,” the Irishman went seductively towards the bed and sat down on the edge of it, wiping the edge of his eyes with the heels of his hands. He looked childish suddenly, like a truant brat who was having a good time fooling around. “Are you going to accuse me of playing with your feelings now? Is that even possible? You have feelings? I remember not so long ago someone was claiming he has no heart and I rebuked him telling him he did, just that he was not aware of it. Listen, I do play with people but it’s mostly with their weaknesses, fortunes and lives, not with their feelings.”

 

Sherlock did something totally out of character at that point. It was a deliberate move, fueled by his insight into Jim Moriarty’s mind. Jim liked surprises, he liked seeing Sherlock do things he had never imagined himself doing, so this had to be done just to ensure Jim knew Sherlock was trying to please him. He knelt before Jim, watching with satisfaction as those arched brows went up a bit, and started to take off the criminal’s shoes.

 

“What? What are you doing?”

 

“Taking off your shoes. Now I will take off your socks.”

 

“But….why?”

 

“You find my bed comfy, don’t you?”

 

“Yes….but….why….?”

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

Jim huffed, “What are you trying to get at Sherlock?”

 

“Simple, no rocket science here,” Sherlock replied evenly, “First we’ll take a bite. Then we will talk. Then maybe a few hours of sleep.”

 

The corners of Jim’s eyes crinkled but his smile was cruel, “You wanna get between my legs?”

 

“All in good time,” Sherlock put the shoes and socks away and headed out of the room.

 

“Bastard,” Jim said, taking off his hoodie.

 

***

 

Sherlock watched with eyes agape as Jim munched on the apple. He had brought his guest cheese sandwiches, tea and that forbidden fruit, since those were all he found in the kitchen and it wasn’t time consuming to come up with that plateful. A tiny bit of worry had lingered in his mind over Jim’s acceptance of that meal, which was frugal at the best, but Jim seemed to enjoy it much. Either he was hungry or he was not picky about food. “Niiiiice,” Jim tossed the apple core at Sherlock and brought him out of his reverie.

 

“So,” Sherlock set the tray on the floor and looked into Jim’s eyes, “Where had you been all these years?”

 

“I was creating a new web, a new business, a new identity,” Jim said, drinking some water, “Or rather, several new identities. My mostly used name is now Isaac Richard Murtagh. Irishman from Cork, professor of mathematics, a scientist and an inventor with several patents in his name, and an author of books on astrophysics and art. I write under a pen name of course. Sorry to burst your big fat bubble Sherly but the web you dismantled was the one I had abandoned because parts of it were no longer profitable and other parts were too high maintenance. You did me a huge favor so I thought, why not return the favor by giving you something you always thought you wanted but never figured out how to get to it.”

 

“I did you a favor by taking your web down?”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“One second, who else was in on your plan?”

 

Jim giggled and took off his sweater, revealing a thin body hugging white T shirt. He smelled nice, even when he lifted both arms and stretched like a Cheshire cat. Sherlock waited for a few more minutes and asked again, “Who else was in on this plan of yours?”

 

“Guess where I live now?” Jim changed the topic.

 

“That’s easy. Singapore.”

 

Jim looked pleased, “My clothes gave it away I guess.”

 

“Not just your clothes, your phone. I saw the message you received a while ago. From Singtel, announcing some benefits of using their partner service provider O2’s network.”

 

“Now you expect me to applaud?”

 

“No, I expect you to be honest.”

 

“Honest? HOOONEST? Your expectations from me seem pretty high or pretty misdirected.”

 

“Being a manipulative, wicked and scheming consulting criminal doesn’t mean you can’t be honest. In fact, during most of our encounters I noticed you were honest and upfront about what you thought of me and what you wanted to do to me.”

 

“Oh honey you have no idea what I wanted to do to you,” Jim suggestively licked his lips and lay down on his back, adjusting the pillow under his head, “If I started to talk about what was on my mind those days….I would have enough meat to publish a new book on them tomorrow. But I digress. Let’s get back to the point now. I kept an eye on you because I wanted to gather some facts and data about you, your lifestyle, your work and the little changes that have come over you of late. You now seem to openly acknowledge you have a heart. You are actually bothered about what people think about you. You have accepted the fact that Johnny boy will never stick his dick in you because his love for you is purely Platonic.”

 

“Now that you have data,” Sherlock said, “What’s the plan?”

 

“What do you think?” Jim waggled his brows.

 

“You want me to do something for you,” Sherlock replied quickly.

 

“Something, this word something, it’s so vague. Be more specific.”

 

“A job.”

 

“Naww, not a job. Something more than that.”

 

“You want to have sex with me.”

 

Jim laughed out so loud that Sherlock feared for a moment about John or Mrs. Hudson hearing him and coming into the flat to check. He put a finger on his lips and said ‘shhhhh’ but Jim kept laughing and snickering. Having no other choice but to wait it out, Sherlock simply stared at the smaller man’s cutesy face till Jim calmed down a little and whispered, “I bet you consider sex as a job and no more than that, do you little virgin?”

 

Sherlock threw him a sour look, something which triggered Jim’s laughter again. This time the detective frowned and huffed out an annoyed breath.

 

“God, look at you getting all pouty and sulky over a few words. I meant to say, ass virgin.”

 

“Technically I am not.”

 

Jim’s laughter stopped. This time it was Sherlock who chuckled. “Irene used a dildo on me and a whip. I didn’t have vaginal sex with her. Thought she would have told you about that already.”

 

“She didn’t give details and even if she did, it doesn’t mean I had to believe her.”

 

“And I should believe you?”

 

Sherlock shrugged and finished the tea he was drinking. “Well, that mostly depends on whether you want to or not,” he stated without a shred of hesitation, “But contrary to popular belief, I have had sex with people before, different people, mostly paid or experimental and all of them nonpenetrative. But those date back to my college days. Since I started working as a consulting detective I didn’t need sex to recharge my batteries or feel good about myself anymore. The curiosity I had earlier about a man-woman conjugal relationship had been replaced by a slight repulsion because I found myself attracted more towards men. But I never acted on those instincts or wishes, nor did I ever encourage them nor venture into any further experiences.”

 

“Hah,” Jim sneered, “Would you have said no if Johnny said yes.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You would have said yes.”

 

“I would have said no.”

 

“Liar.”

 

“As I said,” Sherlock’s green eyes sparkled, “Believing me or not believing me is your prerogative. But that doesn’t change the truth.”

 

“Truth,” Jim let out a dramatic sigh and got up, “Truth is so overrated.”

 

Sherlock felt a pang of loneliness instantly, “You are leaving???”

 

Jim looked a bit taken aback by Sherlock’s tone. “No, but I want to get into bed brushed and changed into something comfier. Do you have PJ’s to lend me and a toothbrush?”

 

***

 

Sherlock couldn’t believe this was really happening. He pinched himself and it hurt like a bitch.

 

So he was not dreaming!!!

 

Jim Moriarty, incredibly pretty and alive, warm and curled up in his bed. Clad in Sherlock’s PJ’s, looking dorky but adorable in them, bare-chested and hairs tousled, the consulting criminal was trying to block the yawns that kept popping up. He was really there, within Sherlock’s reach, now rubbing his eyes profusely as if trying to fend off the sleep that was causing him to go quiet and lazy between sentences. They had been discussing various event and incidents that had taken place in London since the day at the Barts rooftop.

 

“Magnussen was a fool,” Jim blocked another yawn, “Revealing about his mind palace to you. what an idiot. He displayed the same hubris you did when you dealt with that old maid, whatwashernameagain…..Norbury.”

 

“Don’t remind me,” Sherlock deadpanned as he turned to face Jim, a foot’s distance between them even though they were covered under the same blanket, “I do that to myself every time I get a bit too ahead of…..anyways, you have still not answered any of my earlier questions. While it’s nice to have you back and have this conversation, I doubt you took such a huge risk to visit me unless you had big returns in mind. Also, did anyone else know about your plans to fake your death and escape from this country, from your crimes and your web? You did so without a single repercussion anywhere, so I am sure your vanishing act was meticulously planned and planned well in advance.”

 

“Mycroft.”

 

“MYCROFT!!! My brother Mycroft???”

 

“How many Mycroft’s are there? Not many parents name their kids after streets or alleys.”

 

“Hey, my name is not taken from a street sign….hey-hey-hey, don’t try to deflect my question.”

 

“I didn’t, I answered it.”

 

Sherlock felt like visiting Mycroft’s house, yelling at him, then burning his favorite suits and shaving his head and finally burning down Diogenes club, just to watch his elder sibling’s shocked expression. _Mycroft had played it out like a double agent. Helping Jim fake his death, helping Sherlock fake his demise, then using Sherlock to dismantle a web Jim had already abandoned, and coming out of the entire episode smelling like a rose_. “One more question to go then,” he said through gritted teeth, still thinking about Mycroft. If he gritted them harder his jaws would break, he knew that.

 

“Yes I am here to offer you a job.”

 

“What kind of job.”

 

“Be my partner in crime.”

 

Before Sherlock could even open his mouth and ask a single question, Jim’s eyes fluttered shut and within moments his breathing evened out. Left awake, thunder-struck and confused, Sherlock lay there thinking over this for a long time. Eventually he fell asleep but not before he had reached under the covers and placed his hand over Jim’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is a Mycroft and Jim twist in this story.....


	4. A whore and a henchman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An offer Sherlock can't refuse

Sherlock woke up slowly, as if rising from the ashes of his dreamless sleep. He felt both rested and restless, uneasy as well as fulfilled. It was a strange medley of sensations and the first thing his mind focused on, as it regained its bearings, was Jim.

 

_Jim was here. Jim was alive. Correction, Jim is alive. But if he is, why can’t I feel him anymore?_

 

Still not fully awake or aware of his surroundings, Sherlock stretched out his hand in both directions but didn’t feel the presence of his nemesis on either side. That was the trigger that hammered Sherlock with a thousand stimulations and without thinking or looking what he was doing he sat up and thrashed about in a series of ungainly, clumsy movements. Suddenly he hit something solid with his left elbow and the next moment he heard an annoyed ‘ouch’ followed by a knee to his side which made him double over and look at the angry yet groggy criminal next to him. “Jim,” he exclaimed, forgetting the pain, “You are here!”

 

“Of course I am here,” Jim snapped, rubbing his eyes, “I know I have many magical qualities but the vanishing act is not my specialty.”

 

Sherlock realized where he had gone wrong. In his semi awake state he had been looking for Jim above his head and on the wrong side, not at the spot where Jim really was. When the mists of slumber cleared from his eyes he noticed that Jim was now, in fact, closer to him than when they had fallen asleep. He was on the same side of the bed as Sherlock and literally plastered to his side. No wonder Sherlock’s bony elbow had struck his ribcage so hard.

 

“Sorry,” Sherlock said.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim rolled over to face the other side, “Is this how it’s going to be for a whole year?”

 

Sherlock was still thinking about what Jim had said earlier and completely missed the last statement made by the Irishman. “You said you don’t do vanishing acts. But you did just that. For two whole years.”

 

“Do I hear a complaint?” Jim asked in a tone filled with sarcasm.

 

“Well, you left without a note, a goodbye, a proper closure so yeah I do have reasons to complain about it.”

 

“Oh God, not this drama first thing in the morning.”

 

“Then what else do you want to do first thing in the morning?”

 

Sherlock blushed fiercely at the suggestiveness of his words just as Jim’s eyes narrowed and then glowed with something the detective couldn’t identify. But he put it somewhere between lust and wickedness with a dash of eagerness thrown into it. Did that mean Jim was sexually attracted towards him? Or that…..he was getting sexually attracted towards Jim?

 

Before Sherlock could concentrate any further on that point, his mind whizzed back to the earlier statement Jim had made. “Wait,” he said, “What do you mean if this will be something for a year…..what?”

 

Jim began his hyena laughter again. He rolled over once more, this time lying on his back as he surprisingly pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from under his pillow and lit one of the nicotine sticks. Low tar, slim cigarettes with a mint essence, Sherlock noticed. He wondered how Jim started smoking. He was sure the criminal had a dark side and several bad habits but he certainly didn’t have this particular bad habit during the last time they had engaged in their great game. But the delightful smoke had started to tickle his urges and he tentatively reached out for one of the cigarettes from Jim’s packet.

 

Jim slapped his hand away.

 

“So you can smoke but I can’t?” Sherlock said dryly.

 

“Ask, don’t take,” came the equally dry response.

 

“Okay, may I please have…..”

 

Before Sherlock could respond one cigarette was pushed between his lips and the lighter landed on his chest. He lit it and sat up, looking down at Jim who was still lying on his back and puffing away at his cigarette. He seemed thoughtful as he stared at the ceiling, watching it intently through the haze of his cigarette smoke. “I asked you something,” Sherlock said curiously, taking a few drags and blowing out three perfect rings, “What did you mean by that thing you said? One year, one year of what?”

 

“Working with me.”

 

“Working with you???”

 

“Honey, don’t make it sound like I am a monster.”

 

“But you are.”

 

“So are you. We are the same remember? That unforgettable dialogue, ‘I might be on the side of angels but I am not one of them blablabla….’, huh?”

 

Sherlock snorted, “That blabla part was unnecessary.”

 

“So,” Jim said, sitting up as well, “Game?”

 

“To work for you?” Sherlock asked, feeling something surreal happening to him, “What kind of work? Blowing things up, extortion and assassination, heists and smuggling, money laundering and art theft?”

 

“Don’t be a drama queen Sherlock and please let’s not pretend we are little kids playing catch,” Jim’s tone went from playful and relaxed to taut and harsh, “You are not stupid enough to believe consulting criminals do this and only this. Yes, from time to time we do all that you mentioned but please have some respect for someone at my level. It’s not like either my close aides or I do any of those jobs ourselves. As for working for me, nope, you will work with me. There is a difference. While I will remain the boss and my decision is final, you will get a chance to plan things out with me and provide suggestions and insights, based on your great intellect.”

 

He looked at Sherlock with a smirk, “Shut that fly trap.”

 

Which Sherlock did, audibly. “One year,” Jim added, “If all goes well we can continue the arrangement. If not, you are free to part ways with me.”

 

Finally Sherlock’s brain kicked into gear and he answered haughtily, “That’s why you came here sneakily, three years after your escape. To recruit me? Make me your henchman?”

 

“For someone so bright, you’re also incredibly cloudy,” Jim huffed.

 

“How did you even assume I will say yes to this?” Sherlock asked, now getting a bit angry at Jim’s open scorn for his common sense or self-control. He got out of bed, more because his body was responding to Jim’s presence in more ways than one and he didn’t want to get caught with a boner, like some three-year-old caught stealing candy. He pulled the front of his T shirt down a bit, to hide the bulge that had built up in his (thankfully) loose PJ’s.

 

“I didn’t assume,” Jim looked all innocent suddenly, “I know.”

 

The tone changed towards the end of the sentence, becoming almost steely. His eyes also looked steely, as if he was going to get what he wanted, including Sherlock’s agreement. Sherlock realized, much to his dismay, that a part of him wanted to do this. He wanted to see what Jim’s life was like, how he worked, how he lived, what he did while he was not working, how he created and ran his web. But an equal part of him feared getting lost in that very web.

 

“You know,” Sherlock repeated, “That’s arrogance which borders on foolishness.”

 

“On the contrary,” Jim got out of bed too, “It borders on….no it relies on proof. Solid proof from your past Sherly.”

 

When Sherlock looked at him blankly, Jim said, “Johan Woznick.”

 

Sherlock sat back down on the bed as if hit by a club. Of course Jim knew about that dark phase of Sherlock’s life! How else could he be so confident about getting an acceptance from Sherlock?

 

“If you don’t agree to work with me all I have to do is expose your past mistake,” Jim said as he literally danced around the bed and landed up right before Sherlock, cheeks suffused with the flush of success, “A few craftily placed proofs, a couple of phone calls, some accidental revelations by a few people and suddenly you will become an arch villain all over again. Your mistake cost the country some financial losses and three agents lost their lives due to the murder of a wrong man. Oh yeah sweetheart, those repercussions were severe and you know it all too well, as does your big brother. By the way, if this gets out Mycroft will also lose his job while you face jail for a short time. But imagine the ignominy of……”

 

“I heard enough,” Sherlock snapped, “I am aware of the mistake I made, no matter how young I was and how long back it was.” He was angry with himself all over again. That mistake had haunted him for years and now it was about to consume his future. But he realized with a slight bit of shock that the idea of working with Jim Moriarty for a year was not that repulsive or revolting. He could live with it easily, mind, body, soul and conscience. He was just upset that Jim was arm-twisting him.

 

“Nature calling,” Jim said as he headed for the door, “You have fifteen minutes to decide.”

 

Even in the midst of this mini storm Sherlock didn’t forget his wit. “You pee for fifteen minutes, is it?”

 

“Nope, taking a shit,” came the absolutely nonchalant response.

 

***

 

“Breakfast is the only meal I can cook,” Jim said, pointing at the spread on the kitchen table with a flourish, his voice laced with pride, “Two eggs each, turned lightly over. Brown bread toast, slightly burned at the edges. Pancakes with maple syrup and two tall mugs of latte.”

 

“Are there many more things I don’t know about you?” Sherlock asked as he pulled a chair for himself and another one for Jim, “Like, do you polish your own shoes, go camping on weekends and eat ice cream in bed?”

 

“I like how you think about things I do in bed,” Jim giggled while Sherlock again developed a roseate blush on his high cheekbones. Jim dug into the food with enthusiasm while Sherlock attacked the coffee, inhaling its warm vapors before taking a long, satisfying sip. “By the way Sherly, getting into bed with me isn’t a mandatory thing in this pact,” Jim continued with a mouthful, “My expectation is that you work with me and we share a common lodging. We can always have separate bedrooms. However, if you want things to be taken to the bed and between the sheets then I am not some prude who will turn you down.”

 

Sherlock let it slip, “So you want a whore and a henchman.”

 

Jim looked up and the sleuth saw a slow change in his eyes which went from sparkling and happy to dark and disturbed. The next moment a kitchen knife was at his throat and Jim’s irate face was inches from his own. He smelled coffee and toast on Jim’s hot, intoxicating breath as the criminal growled at him. “If you can’t stop your imagination from rustling up a fool’s cocktail of emotions, presumptions and moral superiority, then I suggest we never see each other again. I made an effort to do this, I took a risk and showed you my face, my intentions and made a decent offer to you! But what do I get in return? Accusations of treating you like a common whore or a paid two-bit henchman?”

 

Sherlock realized he had made a mistake but was speechless for that moment. How could he talk when he was so aroused by Jim’s proximity? Being in bed with the criminal sounded like a delicious proposition right now and he was already thinking of nights he could spend in Jim’s bed. Was he turning promiscuous? Was the obsession that Jim displayed earlier with him now his own bane? Was he now equally obsessed?

 

“You know what,” Jim started to walk away, “Rot in your own juices….”

 

“Wait.”

 

Sherlock grabbed Jim, put an arm around him and made him sit back down at the kitchen table again. “Finish your breakfast,” Sherlock picked up a toast as well, “Let’s eat first. Give me some time to decide and I’ll come back to you with my decision.”

 

“Give you time? That’s cute.”

 

“So it’s not a negotiation.”

 

“Johan Woznick.”

 

“You are blackmailing me.”

 

“I wouldn’t have to if you agree with me and come along.”

 

“One and the same. This is arm twisting.”

 

“Whatever you’d like to call it, it’s fine by me. I am not carrying the burden of being politically correct, morally sound or legally invincible. That’s entirely your forte.”

 

Sherlock put the fork into Jim’s hand and said, “Still, I am requesting you for time till evening.”

 

Jim shrugged, “That’s doable.”

 

Sherlock took a forkful of food and shoveled it into his own mouth. “Eggs are nice,” he said.

 

***

 

Sherlock stayed in bed for most of that day, pondering over the things Jim had said. His proposal was far from decent, in fact it was the most indecent proposal he had heard in his life, but that didn’t mean it didn’t tickle Sherlock’s fancy. The thrill of sharing the most dangerous criminal’s life, of working with him closely and observing how things worked on the other side of the fence, that was motivation enough for him to want to agree. Furthermore, the risk taking, danger-loving side of his had been stoked and it itched for some new challenges and pushed boundaries. He wanted to do this and not purely because he didn’t want to get exposed for his silly childish mistake thirteen years earlier.

 

Jim was an expert manipulator. He knew just how to press Sherlock’s buttons.

 

The detective buried his long nose in the pillow Jim had laid his head on and inhaled deeply. It still smelled of some citrus shampoo and cigarettes, mingled with Jim’s unique scent. The sheets and blanket smelled of him too and Sherlock found himself sniffing the bed like a dog, unaware of the fact that John had walked in on him and was staring at him through wide eyes. Sherlock jumped up, blushing for the tenth possible time that day, and tried to pretend that all was well. But his friend’s sincere eyes read Sherlock really well and the good doctor spotted the storm behind those green orbs.

 

“All well?” John asked, “Sorry I didn’t tell you I had to assist another doctor at the OT this morning. Got a call at 6 am because the regular assisting surgeon called in sick.”

 

“Um….yeah all good, I-I am okay, don’t worry.”

 

“Worry? Should I be worried Lockie?”

 

“How did the surgery go?”

 

“It was a success. But you never ask about the surgeries or my practice…..wait, are you trying to create a smokescreen now?”

 

“Why should I?” Sherlock responded indignantly, “I have nothing to hide.”

 

Except Jim’s hoodie. He forgot the hoodie and it was now on a chair right next to where John was standing. Sherlock sat up abruptly, too abruptly, eyes on the maroon garment.

 

“You don’t?” John asked suspiciously, “Then why’re you in bed instead of the couch or chair?”

 

“Just a bit under the weather,” Sherlock drawled. God, it was tough to hide things from John.

 

In a grand total of three seconds, John’s expression went from mild annoyance and doubtful to deep concern and genuine affection. He quickly touched Sherlock’s cheek and said, “No fever, which is good. What it is then? A stomach upset?”

 

It took quite a bit of time for Sherlock to shake off John’s maternal cooing and fussing and send the doctor on the usual errand of getting groceries from the nearest Tesco or Waitrose. John went gladly, for he had the rest of the day off from work, and going out for groceries meant he was also going to get a haircut on the way back. He had been mentioned a day ago that he needed that trim rather badly. The moment John was out of the flat, Sherlock locked the door and began to pace about in the living room, thinking hard through the situation. He didn’t have much time to dilly-dally over Jim’s proposal. He needed to come to a decision really fast.

 

He started to plot the pros and cons into side-by-side columns, stacking them up so he could see which one outweighed the other.

 

Pro’s – Being with Jim, learning more about him and other criminals, protecting Mycroft who had protected and shielded him many times, not hurting mummy who surely wouldn’t be able to handle the misery faced by both her sons, traveling the world again and taking a few risks which could get his adrenalin rushing like no other thing. _Oh yes_ , he sighed, _there were more than a few pro’s_.

 

Cons – Being away from London, from John, from this little abode he so loved, committing or at least being ally to Jim’s crimes and the outside chance that he might just like being a criminal.

 

That gave him a jolt. Did he just think that he might enjoy being a criminal? “Shit,” he groaned, “I can’t believe it.”

 

“Can’t believe what?”

 

Sherlock jumped, “Fuck!”

 

“Later honey,” Jim emerged from the bedroom in a towel and by the looks of it, was going for a bath, “I need to shower first.”

 

“How do you just…..”

 

“No point answering silly questions Sherly,” the criminal smirked, “It’s nearly five and before Johnny boy comes back, I want an answer. I know you aren’t in a position to make a choice and I could just bully you into giving me the answer I want…..still, I want to hear it from you.”

 

Without any hesitation Sherlock replied, “ _It is my choice_ and per my own choice it’s a yes.”


	5. Sherlock Disappears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After accepting Jim's proposal Sherlock visits his parents and writes goodbye letters to his 'friends'

Sherlock took a few bird bites but mostly pushed his food around the plate, the prongs of the fork making faint scraping sounds against the fine china crockery. The peas and carrots mixed with the mashed potatoes and piled on to the macaroni and cheese, creating an obnoxious mix on one side of the detective’s lunch plate. As he did so, he faintly heard someone calling out his name. ‘Sherlock’, ‘Lockie’, ‘Sherlock’, ‘Sher….’

 

“Someone is calling me,” he looked up, his eyes reflecting the slight daze of a man who was physically present at the table but somewhere far away in his thoughts.

 

Three pairs of eyes stared at him in mild shock and complete surprise. As he stared back at them, his focus shifting from one person to another, he realized he had brought the conversation at the dining table, as well as the process of consuming food, to a complete stop. Daddy was smiling at him, amused, while mummy was throwing him a look of disapproval. Mycroft of course stared at him with mild disdain and slight frustration, the edges of his mouth curled down in the process. Sherlock cleared his throat, put down his fork and pretended to be completely ignorant. “What?” He asked.

 

“Mummy has been calling out your name for a minute now, a full minute,” Mycroft stated sanctimoniously, “Suddenly you say ‘someone’ is calling out to you. You had completely zoned out, was it?”

 

“Is everything okay?” Daddy asked, a no-nonsense man who didn’t want to poke and prod his grown children.

 

Sherlock nodded.

 

Mummy looked at the plate, “I spent two hours cooking lunch and baking dessert and you haven’t eaten a single bite. Also, where are your table manners?”

 

Sherlock promptly took his elbows off the table and took a few more bird bites, avoiding eye contact with his family members. During these moments he missed John’s presence and the good doctor’s kind demeanor. Even if Sherlock zoned out, he didn’t bring him back to the present with barbed comments or judgmental looks.

 

Sherlock gritted his teeth and ate some more.

 

As if she had read his mind, yet again, mummy asked, “Why didn’t John join us for lunch today? I did invite him too, didn’t I?”

 

“Yes,” Daddy echoed her sentiments, “He is a lovely person. And since we meet for Sunday lunches twice a month, he could join us at least on one of those occasions.”

 

“I didn’t invite him,” Sherlock said plainly, “He is seeing his sister Harry and her new girlfriend. Their relationship is on the mend and he likes to stay in touch with her. Besides, he does visit you once a month……”

 

“That’s to check on us, our health, and to play a round of chess with me,” daddy’s smile showed how fond he was of the former military man, “There could be other visits too, like this.”

 

***

 

Mycroft joined Sherlock in the backyard where the two brothers duly took their positions behind the large beech tree that grew between two cherry blossoms. The three large growths provided enough coverage for them to quickly smoke a cigarette while mummy was busy storing leftovers and washing the dishes. Dutifully Mycroft provided Sherlock one of his low tar cigarettes while Sherlock whipped out his lighter and lit for them both. Taking a few deep drags, Mycroft gave Sherlock a squinty eyed look and asked, “So, you didn’t want John to join us for lunch, right?”

 

“The bigger question is, why are you so keen that he joins,” Sherlock blew out smoke rings, “It’s not like he expects the invitation.”

 

“Look Lockie,” Mycroft’s voice softened slightly, “You do understand that I am not built for marriage or reproducing. I just don’t have it in me to start a family or have kids. Greg and I will always be two busy men who are afraid to show affection and who date on weekends or special occasions. It will never be a conventional live-in relationship. But with John you have a chance of experiencing a holistic life. You guys work together, live together, you could easily get married and start a family together. Your arrangement works well, it really works, and he understands the perils of marrying a man with an unconventional profession.”

 

Sherlock snickered, “You should record yourself and hear it later.”

 

“Pray why?”

 

“Because marriage is not an arrangement. It’s not just an understanding.”

 

“Oh so let’s listen to the man who’s an expert on marriages and relationships.”

 

“I never claimed to be one Myc. I am merely saying that while it works well between me and John, I would prefer to limit that to friendship and being colleagues while solving cases. I care deeply about him and I admit that he is very fond of me and does everything to support me. But there is no spark between us, no special connection. And wait, wait a minute, since when did you think caring is an advantage?”

 

“I don’t think differently now, caring is never an advantage,” Mycroft frowned.

 

“So you want me to get married and yet not learn to care?” Sherlock scowled.

 

“Don’t complicate things,” Mycroft said sternly, “I am asking you to choose John, to choose happiness, security, companionship, possibly children in the future over a life of loneliness. He won’t wait forever. And don’t even try to tell me that you are better off alone because we both know that is not true. You are more fragile that you care to admit, you need someone to take care of you during your weaker moments and who could be better than John for that? We could choose a good surrogate and…..”

 

“Mycroft stop, please stop,” Sherlock uncharacteristically grabbed his brother’s upper arm and silenced hm. Mycroft looked at Sherlock’s grip on his arm and his brows went up slightly. His kid brother was never the sort to be physically demonstrative, especially with him, and yet he was holding Mycroft’s arms and squeezing it, as if pleading and warning at the same time. Sherlock let go after a few seconds and took another drag of his cigarette before he dropped the atom bomb of information on his elder sibling. “I am not even close to thinking about marriage,” he said, “I am thirty-four. Maybe when I am forty or more, it could be different. One can never predict the future. For now, I am going away for a while.”

 

Mycroft didn’t look worried at first, “A case?”

 

“You can say that.”

 

This time the elder Holmes looked alarmed, “Lockie, what’s going on?”

 

“Please, I just stated my age. I don’t need constant supervision, nor do I need to answer to anyone.”

 

“Not even mummy?”

 

“Don’t use that angle on me now. She wouldn’t need to know. Besides, she is used to not seeing me for months.”

 

Mycroft sighed, “What is this new drama now?”

 

“That is your problem,” Sherlock said, remembering someone’s words, “You overanalyze a situation. You overthink things. You need to assign complexity to everything. You want everything to be complicated so you can unravel things like a genius. There is no complexity or drama here, only one simple truth. I need to travel, I need to solve cases in countries other than England. I need some time alone.”

 

Mycroft opened and closed his mouth. Sherlock could hear him thinking.

 

Seconds ticked by and Mycroft lit a second cigarette, something he usually never did. He kept a gap between his smokes. Sherlock’s words had riled him. He had been winded up.

 

“I suppose I can’t say or do anything to make you change your mind?” Mycroft asked after a prolonged silence.

 

“No,” Sherlock replied, “Don’t try and sabotage this Myc, because you know how stubborn I can be. I will find a way to escape.”

 

“Oh yes I know that all too well,” Mycroft didn’t hesitate to add sarcasm in his voice, “You are an expert in getting out of situations which you don’t find favorable. My only worry is this, what happened that caused you to think London is a cage for you. Why are you suddenly no longer satisfied by cases within England? It’s not like you don’t get a chance to travel now and then. Two months ago you went to Brussels and Salzburg for that case the former Austrian diplomat gave you. Tell me at least this, brother mine, is this sudden restlessness and desire to get away fueled by boredom, or someone who’s no longer in England and wants to see you?”

 

Sherlock felt his stomach drop.

 

“If there was someone like that, all it required was a visit,” he replied defiantly and as normally as possible.

 

“So there is?”

 

“Don’t twist my words around Myc.”

 

“The call of the forbidden and the unknown can be very compelling Sherlock. Sometimes we ignore comfort and safety and risk it all just to get a shot of adrenalin and thrill. 99% of those cases result in either regret, injury or disappointment. You see, once I felt such a call, such a pull. He was much younger, almost nine years younger, perhaps the only person besides Greg who made me almost want to buy a ring. Oh well, in his case, I did buy the ring.”

 

“What happened?” Sherlock was taken aback by this confession even though he didn’t let it show on his face or his tone.

 

“It was a mistake,” Mycroft stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette and looked away. For a moment Sherlock thought the ice was melting. It intrigued him but he didn’t want to intrude into his sibling’s privacy. Then again, it wasn’t like he was interested beyond a point.

 

Not when his mind was full of other things.

 

The chief amongst them being James Isaac Moriarty.

 

***

 

Sherlock stood at the doorway, watching John sleep.

 

The doctor was short, almost half a head shorter than Sherlock. Still, Sherlock had always considered John a big person. Big heart, big ideas, big presence, big thoughts, big efforts, nothing about him had ever been small or shrunk. Even as he slept in his bed, curled up on his side, he didn’t look like the five feet six and half inch man that he was. He radiated a big aura of security and stability, even in his reposed state.

 

One call from Sherlock and he would be ready to defend him. The revolver would be whipped out from under his pillow and no trace of sleep would remain in John’s eyes as they’d narrow down on the prey. If Sherlock was in sufficient danger he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot and kill. His nerves were incredibly strong that way, if he needed to rise above his usual kindness and forgiveness and go for the kill he’d do that easily. Perhaps that was the military man in John, a powerful force which still existed inside the doctor, several years after he’d retired from his army duties.

 

Sherlock leaned against the doorframe and sighed. John would have to understand. He would be gone for a year, perhaps more, and there would be little contact between them. But at least this time John would know he was fine, he was okay, that he had taken up an adventure that mandated his departure from England. Above all, John would not grieve for him or mourn his loss. Sherlock was not playing dead this time, he was merely going away for a short while. One year would just zip past and nobody would even realize. Or maybe they would, not that Sherlock could do much to mitigate those problems. If he was going to be missed, then he was neither flattered nor bothered by it. It just had to happen and people would need to accept.

 

He had written six letters. One for his parents, one for Mycroft, one for Lestrade, one for Mrs. Hudson, one for Molly and the longest and most heartfelt one for John. He had chosen the old-fashioned way of communicating so Mycroft and his spies wouldn’t trace his position through the IP address. Also, it somehow made him feel better as he wrote down those words rather than type them. It was more personal, more effective.

 

Slowly he shut the door and went downstairs to the flat, quickly packing some of his belongings in a large rucksack backpack, a duffel bag and a large suitcase. The fourth item he carried was his violin for which he had recently purchased a fashionable carry case with a cross body sling.

 

It took him about two hours to get it all done. Then he pulled on his coat, boots, gloves and wrapped the muffler snugly around his long neck. A quick check on his hair and the watch he was wearing, which indicated that it was now 1:30 am, he quickly lowered the bags and violin case using the rope he had tied to the window peg. Once he was sure it had been loaded into the van downstairs, he tiptoed down the stairwell, opened the door and rushed into the back of the van.

 

At the same time, Mycroft’s surveillance unit and all the cameras trained on 221B were blinded by a thick curtain of smoke. By the time the spies arrived, the smoke had cleared and so had the van.

 

Sherlock Holmes had disappeared, or rather, escaped.

 

***

 

_Dear John_

_I have decided to take up a certain investigation that’s been long pending and very important to me. This involves unconventional methods and a bigger number of risks as compared to all our cases, therefore as a precaution, I won’t let you tag along with me. I know this will upset you somewhat but please try not to judge me too harshly. I need to do this and this might take a year or more, so don’t expect me to be back sooner than I just mentioned. Trust me, I am well and I will return. This time around I didn’t want you to remain in the dark about my situation, hence I wrote this letter to you. I won’t ask for forgiveness because I am not doing anything wrong. I am merely following my heart and exercising my rights as a free citizen in a free country. Why don’t you use this time to complete your long pending dream of becoming a surgeon? Probably my absence might give you that slight push you needed in that direction. Take care and I will call when I can. Leaving my phone here because I don’t want anyone tracking me through it……Your Lockie_

 

John read the letter out aloud to Mycroft and looked at him expectantly. The elder Holmes looked perturbed and slightly annoyed by his brother’s disappearance and kept drumming his fingers on the handle of his everpresent umbrella, a sign of anxiety and stress coursing through him. “He mentioned something about solving cases in other countries, needing time alone and all of that to me. In fact, it was last afternoon at mummy and daddy’s house. I should have anticipated he would make a move soon and stopped him from taking this silly step. But I was slow in my response to his message and he capitalized on it.”

 

“For God’s sake Myc,” John lashed out, “This isn’t the time to assign blame and regret what was not done. Can’t we look at what can be done instead?”

 

“He has meticulously covered his tracks John. My men and women are looking for him everywhere. I have sounded the alarm and the borders have been sealed. My teams are scanning all flights, shipyards, trains, ferries and roads leading out of the country. But no luck.”

 

“So far no luck but that might change.”

 

“We both know him. If he wishes to really disappear he can very well do so.”

 

John ran his hands over his face, “You are overestimating him.”

 

“You are underestimating him,” Mycroft replied.

 

John’s eyebrows lifted. “You are saying this? You who thought he was slow?”

 

“When the episode with Eurus happened a year ago,” Mycroft said as he stared at Sherlock’s now empty chair, “Both of us understood lots of things which we had earlier simply ignored. Sherlock realized I am not as tough a cookie as I claimed to be, that I could crumble under certain situations. He also realized I always protect him, even if it’s from his own demons or daredevilry. He found a new kind of respect for me. On the other hand I realized just how resourceful, stubborn and daring he was. A total desperado that cannot truly be controlled or contained. I worried about him all the more because of that.”

 

John let out a harsh laughter, “And yet you didn’t worry enough when he gave you a warning about the things he was planning to do? That’s sweet Mycroft.”

 

As Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, his assistant Anthea suddenly appeared saying Sherlock was last seen approaching a private airfield in suburban London, on the southern side. There was further evidence to prove that four different carriers had taken off the night before from the single strip they had but there was no clue left behind as to which direction they were headed and who assisted them in their take off and fueling. “It is an airstrip that belongs to a wealthy industrialist but he is in Asia at this moment and the airfield was closed. Nobody had been authorized to use it.”

 

“Evidently some people don’t need authorization.”

 

“Boss, do you want me to…..”

 

“No, not needed. Just track the footage from cameras in the vicinity. Whoever did this planned it meticulously. They would have definitely visited this area multiple times before. That’s where you’d get your suspects.”

 

“Sure boss.”

 

Once Anthea had left, John turned to Mycroft, “Why do you think he is doing this?”

 

“I wish I knew,” Mycroft replied.

 

“How did Mrs. Holmes take it?”

 

“With surprising ease and calm. Both daddy and she said he would be fine. They were glad this time around he made it a point to visit them right before he left. Greg got a note too, a short one, and the only thing he told me was that Sherlock must have had a good reason for this.”

 

“So then….what shall we do?”

 

Mycroft looked into John’s confused, saddened eyes and replied, “Go get your surgeon’s license John. It will be a very long year ahead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock isn't in love with Jim, not yet. But he is in love with the idea of sharing a year's adventure with Jim. The ship has sailed but will turn from its due course, over the next few chapters.


	6. The game continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is on his way to Oslo, to partner with Jim on their first joint assignment. During the journey, some interesting event occur!

“You are an exceptionally brilliant bastard,” Sherlock put on his beanie as the cold sea air hit his ears and made him shiver, “Leaving telling clues at an airstrip and a few roads and none at the small dockyard from where we took off.”

 

Jim was cute and warm in his quilted jacket, furry cap and thick gloves and boots. All bundled up and cozy, he looked younger than his thirty-three years. The tip of his nose and the skin covering his cheekbones were red from the frost wind. Sherlock felt like kissing them.

 

“The worst mistake someone can make is underestimating their enemy,” Jim said as he stepped past Sherlock and stood at the edge of the deck, “Mycroft’s power, intellect and connections are no less than mine and I didn’t want him to pull out all the swords he has to keep his baby brother back in London. By the time he and his teams realize they are on a wild-goose chase we will be at our destination and already done with our first assignment as partners. Of course, don’t forget I am the managing partner and you are only an ordinary partner. If you try to disrupt or dominate, I’ll hang you out to dry.”

 

Sherlock ignored the threat and asked, “So where is our first job? Which is our first destination? It’s been three days at sea till now so I guess it’s about time I get some clarity, at least.”

 

“Fair ask,” Jim said, “Our first stop, Oslo. Our first job, well, that will be told when we land there.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I hope you’re used to the cold…..”

 

“Oh yes, yes I am,” Sherlock interrupted Jim with his reply, eager to please the other man. He was not entirely sure why he was doing this though. Why would he need to please Jim? He was here because he wanted to be with Jim and see how the man lived, get a glimpse of his world and his thoughts, to work with him so he could understand the mindset of criminals and thugs. He didn’t have to do anything to make Jim happy. Jim was probably not even expecting that.

 

Jim gave him a strange look and completed his earlier statement. “Good you are comfortable in subzero temperatures……because I am NOT.”

 

Sherlock thought he saw a hint of longing in Jim’s eyes but it was a blink and miss moment. Soon Jim’s eyes grew cold, distant and dark again and they stood there, side by side, watching the sun dip beneath the horizon.

 

They were on Jim’s private boat. It was more than a yacht, less than a ship, and had a touch of Jim all over. Built light yet sturdy, compact yet comfortable, it was appropriately named ‘Rubicon’.

 

Sherlock had wondered more than once if this was one more of Jim’s games, another act that showed off his dramatic side. Taking him away from his established profession, his base, his home and his friends for a whole year, in a ship named Rubicon. The die was cast, there was no looking back after this. It was a point of no return for the Englishman, at least not for the next twelve months or so.

 

He looked at Jim and then at the vessel they were on. Jim sure displayed finesse, sophistication and class in whatever he did. Rubicon was beautiful and luxurious.

 

Built over five levels, two above the main deck and two below, it boasted of the latest technology in handling, safety and speed. There was a submarine, a powerboat, two longboats and three huge rafts on Rubicon, as well as a four-seater seaplane and a two-seater chopper. There were sixteen cabins for Jim and his guests, besides the five smaller cabins for the captain, the first mate, the second mate and the chief radio operator and the chief engineer. There were three dormitories and five shared quarters for the crew, two galleys, a bar, a mess hall, a special dining room for Jim, a bigger dining hall with formal seating arrangement for the guests and a private theater. There were also sitting rooms, games rooms, a sauna, a room for massages and therapy, a swimming pool on the second level deck with an attached jacuzzi and a fully equipped gymnasium.

 

“How much does this boat cost?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Huh?” Jim went, as if he hadn’t expected this question, “What?”

 

“How much did you pay for it?”

 

“I didn’t. The king of Sweden gave it to me. I just gave her some botox and fillers.”

 

“Okay let me rephrase, what did you do to make him give you this gift?”

 

Jim grinned, like a cat that had grabbed the canary from the cage. “Not much really. I just took care of a small task for him. He wanted his brother in law gone so his browbeaten sister and nephew could be safe and under his protection. I did as he asked and took his boat.”

 

“You worked for the king of Sweden???”

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

“No, nothing.”

 

“Don’t fib. There is something.”

 

“Your clientele seems just as illustrious as mine. I helped the King of Denmark.”

 

“Mine is shinier, richer, more powerful, far more dangerous and sometimes very slippery. You will definitely enjoy working with them.”

 

“I would rather enjoy working with you,” Sherlock replied, noting how Jim’s eyes briefly lit up, “Clients could be anybody.”

 

***

 

Sherlock was sitting in a hot tub in the small room next to the sauna, clad in a tiny pair of trunks. The water was hot and maintained at a steady temperature, the rising vapors from it creating a nice misty ambience in the room. Essential oils burned in one corner on a dragon shaped lamp, filling the whole place with pleasant interconnected notes of sugar and moringa fragrance. Inactivity during a nine-day sea-trip was his fear but on this boat he had found a million ways of keeping himself occupied. One of them was this room, where he preferred to spend some time alone every day.

 

The interconnecting door between the sauna and this room opened but Sherlock took no notice. It would most likely be the attendant who managed this area. He sometimes stepped in to put fresh towels, robes, slippers but nobody else ever intruded while Sherlock was around.

 

But today was different. Sherlock’s pleasant haze was interrupted by the sounds of feet splashing into the water and another person’s presence in the tub as the water swirled around its levels rose slightly. Since the attendant, or anyone else on the boat, would never dare to share the limited space of the tub with him it could only mean one man who’d have the authority and the temerity to do so. Before he even looked at the man he smelled him, a sense of wellbeing sweeping over his heart and mind when he felt realized that Jim and he had one more thing in common – soaking in hot tubs.

 

Then his jaw dropped.

 

Jim wasn’t wearing any clothes. No briefs or boxers, no swim trunks or board shorts, not even a jockstrap or something. He was as naked as the day he had been born.

 

Sherlock had seen several naked men in his life. He had watched both gay porn and straight porn after all. He had done his share of experimenting while at high school and later in college. He had been to nude beaches and wild parties where people shed all fabric and presented themselves the way nature had made them. He was no prude. But having Jim Moriarty standing two feet away from him in his naked glory was a bit much.

 

He looked away, appalled at the way his hardened flesh leapt up between his legs. Jim would surely notice that.

 

“Sherly, look at me,” came the command.

 

Sherlock obeyed but his look was that of an embarrassed, almost petrified child who had been caught stealing candy.

 

Jim stared down his body, “Look at me.”

 

Sherlock hesitated at first. But then Jim stood up in the tub, grabbed his chin and tipped his chin up so he was forced to look and when he did look he couldn’t stop looking. For the first time he saw Jim in his nude magnificence and realized that the criminal was indeed a very attractive man. His skin was not pasty like Sherlock’s but had a nice golden hue due to extensive natural tanning. It was smooth and not too hairy but he had hair at the right places. Like his groin where a neatly trimmed thatch of pubic hair stood out against the paler pallor of his skin. He was slender but had the right pack of muscles in all the appropriate places. He had beautiful hands and feet, which were shapely and aesthetic, and his limbs were graceful and long as compared to his torso.

 

But the best thing about his appearance was the most private parts of him. A long thick dick that looked very pretty in its state of tumescence, slightly curved and uncut. Two heavy and well-hung balls with a sprinkle of dark hair on them which added to its virile appeal. The curve of his arse was rather eyeball grabbing and the twin pale globes were pert and tight, the crack between them mysterious and intriguing as it shielded the most vulnerable part of him. A sudden visual of Jim lying on his front with his twin cheeks parted and the tiny pink hole showing flashed before Sherlock’s eyes and a tingle started in the detective’s spine.

 

Then he noticed how Jim was smirking at him. Quickly he closed his expression and put on a façade of indifference.

 

“Like what you see?” Jim asked with a smug expression.

 

“Yes, what’s there not to like,” Sherlock returned.

 

“Then why look away, virgin?”

 

“I am not exactly a virgin. You know that.”

 

“Ever been with a man?”

 

“Yes but never went the whole nine yards.”

 

“That makes you a virgin, an arse virgin.”

 

Sherlock decided not to let Jim win the dialogue. “Well,” he shrugged, “If you have finished showing off you can sit down again.”

 

“You’re not good at pretending Sherly,” Jim sat back down, eyes on Sherlock’s groin, “Or is that betraying you?”

 

Sherlock knew it already but to be called out for it was not something he had expected. Embarrassed all over again, perturbed by his lack of control and overheating inside due to this close proximity with a very naked and aroused Jim, he knew of only one way out.

 

“Excuse me, need to use the toilet,” he said and abruptly got out of the tub, shivering all over but not from cold. As he made for the next room which had an attached toilet and shower, he heard Jim snickering and those sounds pricked his skin like a thousand needles. He was a competitive person, he hated losing, and whenever he was alone with Jim it seemed like a perpetual game of one-upmanship that Jim kept winning and winning. Sherlock felt confused, slightly helpless and small. In a way he felt trapped as well, trapped in situations that he had never encountered before.

 

He wanted to win. He wanted the Irishman to be as much on the backfoot as he was. He wanted to catch Jim unawares just like Jim caught him unawares all the time. He wanted to see a roseate blush on Jim’s cheeks like the one he carried on his sharp cheekbones most of the time. With his teeth gritted he entered the bathroom and closed the door a bit too hard.

 

He was already pulling his pants down as he closed the door, his discomfort of carrying that enormous erection trapped in his trunks too much to bear. The phallus leapt out, a breath of relief leaving the detective as he wrapped his fingers around him.

 

“Oh fuck,” he closed his eyes.

 

A naked Jim. A naked and very hard Jim. An eager and horny Jim.

 

He tried to imagine himself fucking Jim but his asexual lifestyle had crippled his brain’s powers somewhat. The best images he could conjure were those of him jerking Jim off.

 

Jim’s expression of ecstasy, his face contorted with pleasure, his eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering slightly. God that was so beautiful.

 

His eyes snapped open. Did he consider Jim beautiful? Physically beautiful? Had he been doing that for the last few days now? When had his admiration and awe of Jim’s intellect shift to his pretty face and sexy body? Since when had he, Sherlock Holmes, started to focus on physical beauty and fulfilment? Wasn’t he all about brains? Wasn’t the rest of his body just a mere attachment to his brain?

 

By the time he finished his thought, he came with a soft gasp, shuddering all over. He hadn’t even realized that he hadn’t stop jerking himself all the while as he thought about his changed view towards Jim.

 

Physical relief washed over him but the mental agony remained. Was this going to be his life now? Conflict, confusion and longing? He washed up and straightened his trunks, splashing some cold water on his face as he tried to bring back some semblance of control over his body. To prevent himself from thinking about a naked Jim again, he gave himself a silent pep-talk.

 

_It’s only a matter of a year Sherlock, just a year, chin up._

 

***

 

Dinner time arrived and Sherlock had calmed down somewhat by then. He dressed properly for dinner, donning one of his best shirts, a purple one, and teamed it up with black form fitted slacks and shiny dark tan brogues. He threw on a nice dark gray, almost charcoal colored coat on top and, on an impulse sprayed some Davidoff cologne on his pulse points. Taking a few deep breaths to compose himself, he went into the smaller dining room that was used for Jim and his private dining guests. At the table was a woman named Eileen who worked for Jim and one of Jim’s aides by the name Anthony Blair.

 

To his dismay, Jim ignored him after acknowledging his presence with a brief nod.

 

Sherlock played with his food and listened to the conversation, parts of which was in Scandinavian tongue which both Eileen and Anthony seemed to understand and speak. But from the parts that was spoken in English, Sherlock understood that they were talking about a coup in Paraguay and making plans to fund it with both arms and international diplomatic support. Though Sherlock had not been given any hints or clues about this work, he more or less deduced that Jim was trying to support the coup so he could buy huge shares in some large Paraguayan business consortiums, so he could capitalize on the fluctuation in prices.

 

The profits would run into millions.

 

Suddenly he felt someone playing footsie with him. The socked foot belonged to a man for sure but since both Jim and Anthony were seated equidistant from him Sherlock couldn’t make out which one of the two was the culprit.

 

Gosh, that toe was now climbing higher on his shins and almost at his knee. Yet, over the table, neither man gave any impression of what was going on underneath. They calmly continued their chat, not looking at Sherlock, engrossed in their discussion.

 

Suddenly Eileen said, “Sherlock are you okay?”

 

Sherlock almost choked on his glass of water as the toe reached his groin. “I….no….um….I am fine,” he cleared his throat.

 

“You have a wonderful voice,” Anthony suddenly commented, giving a sideways glance to the detective, “Have you ever tried to audition for a movie?”

 

Sherlock looked at Jim, hoping to get a response from him, but the mastermind seemed least interested and redirected the conversation back to the Paraguay coup. It was a disappointing realization that Jim was not the footsie player under the table. It was Anthony Blair.

 

“You are sea sick,” Eileen observed, “You should be taking meds for that.”

 

***

 

Sherlock tossed and turned in bed. Truth was, he was not sea sick nor did he feel the slightest bit of discomfort due to the sway of the ship over the rolling waves. His cabin was plush, his bed soft and comfortable and there was no reason not to fall into the arms of a nice, restful sleep. The gentle rocking was in fact a good way to doze off, like being rocked in the cradle like a child. But that God damned hot rod between his legs was bothering him so bad that he couldn’t settle down enough to warrant even a nap, forget a night’s slumber. Why, oh why did that foot have to belong to Anthony?

 

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

 

With a long face Sherlock got out of bed and padded barefoot to the door, expecting one of the stewards or a member of the crew with a note from Jim about the next day’s plans. The criminal mastermind was notoriously meticulous about things like this and even a slight change in breakfast timings would bring a note to his doorstep. When he opened the door though, instead of a uniformed steward he was presented with the sight of a suited, booted Anthony Blair instead. “Hey there,” the man said jovially, “I brought you some meds to fight off that seasickness. Eileen gave them to me.”

 

“Oh,” Sherlock was so surprised that he couldn’t say anything else.

 

“You are one of us now man,” Anthony said boisterously, “If there’s something you need, or want any advice on, please feel free to ask.”

 

“Yeah, I will ask,” Sherlock said, wondering if the big man (almost six feet four) would now step in and ask him for a ‘favor’. In that case he would have to refuse. If there was any coercion beyond that he would have to call Jim and ask him to sort it out. This was not part of their deal.

 

“Goodnight then,” Anthony walked away without a backward glance.

 

No sooner had Sherlock gotten into bed when the intercom rang. It was Eileen, asking him if he had the strip of pills she had sent through Anthony. After thanking her Sherlock lay down, only to be disturbed again by a series of knocks to his door. “I do not need any more meds,” he snapped as he opened the door.

 

Then he froze. It was Jim. “What meds,” Jim grinned evilly, “I came here to continue our game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheriarty sex? Little more patience dearies!


	7. Forgive Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jim dance around each other's shadows while Mycroft reminisces about the past, and that one mistake he had made.

“He couldn’t have disappeared into thin air or gotten swallowed by the ground,” Mycroft barked into the phone, uncharacteristically agitated as he instructed his agents, “Get in touch with Interpol, contact UN, activate the full espionage network and even our double agents but I need a report on his whereabouts. I need it by this evening. It’s been a whole week and we have no clue. I know my brother is smart but he is no magician.”

 

John looked at him with quiet restraint while Greg Lestrade seemed rather taken aback by the rather unusual outburst from the Iceman. “Calm down Myc,” he said as Mycroft hung up.

 

“Calm down my foot,” Mycroft lit up another cigarette, “My left foot! Sherlock is going to get into big trouble, very big trouble, and I have a premonition about it. I think he is not acting alone on this, someone must be helping him out. That someone has to be a brilliant idiot, just like my little brother is, to be tempting fate like this with such disdain. Look, I know Sherlock is a grown man and can take his own decisions but we have known from experience how erratic and irresponsible he can be. His intentions are good but his actions are not always so. I can’t keep protecting him all the time.”

 

“There you said it,” Greg said, “You can’t. So calm down and let your team do the job.”

 

“Easier said than done,” Mycroft sighed.

 

Greg looked uneasy, “Do you think he has gone off to look for someone?”

 

“Which someone do you mean?”

 

“Like Jim Moriarty.”

 

“What? Why should he?”

 

“I can answer that,” John said, “He always believed Moriarty was alive.”

 

“Moriarty is dead,” Mycroft said sternly.

 

“Tell me Myc,” John looked the MI6 chief in the eye, “Did you see Moriarty’s corpse? Sherlock jumped off to complete the act he was supposed to play and didn’t see anyone clean up after him. Did someone from your team do that or not?”

 

“Of course they did, someone from my team did that on my behalf,” Mycroft answered confidently, “One of my agents Joseph Wickham did that and he even sent me pictures, including the unnamed grave where his remains lie. I have even conducted a DNA test on the corpse to prove that was Jim….James Moriarty. To answer your question word by word, no I didn’t see the corpse with my own eyes but as MI6 chief that’s not supposed to be my job.”

 

“Was that guy dependable?” Greg asked.

 

“Where is he now?” John asked curiously.

 

“You know what guys, let me put him on a conference call with both of you,” Mycroft looked rather pissed off that his capabilities were being doubted, that too by two men who were supposed to be close to him and should trust him, “Just hold on. Where is his number now, let me search, oh yes I have it saved by his code, hold on, here we go.” He dialed a number, put the call on speakerphone and set the device on the coffee table. John and Greg huddled around it as the call started to go through, eager to hear what agent Joseph Wickham had to say. The line beeped and cackled with static and suddenly went dead.

 

“Let’s try again, he might be in an area with poor connectivity,” Mycroft said.

 

When the call was made the second time it went straight to voice mail.

 

“Is he on a mission?” John asked.

 

“He is,” Mycroft said, “I will send him a coded message. He will respond when it’s convenient and safe.”

 

***

 

“I came to continue our game.”

 

Sherlock stood rooted to the spot as Jim walked past him, into his cabin, as if he owned it. His shoulder brushed Sherlock’s, as if it was the most obvious thing to do, and while Jim seemed unaffected by that touch Sherlock was not. He closed his eyes and willed himself to relax.

 

Looking over his shoulder Jim stated, “In case you are thinking I act like I own the entire boat and every cabin on it, then the reality is that _I do_.” His smug grin was complimented by the glint in his dark eyes as he sat down on Sherlock’s bed and then slowly lay down on it, legs still dangling off the edge. Realizing that a shell-shocked Sherlock had not even moved from his position, Jim jinked three fingers in a ‘come hither’ gesture and said, “Close that bloody door and come over here Sherly, don’t act like a blushing virginal bride on her wedding night.”

 

Sherlock tried to sound tired, “What do you want Jim?”

 

“You. Isn’t that obvious?”

 

“Look, I am not…..”

 

“Don’t be a fucking prude Sherrrly. You know you want this.”

 

“I do,” Sherlock let it slip and then quickly tried to retreat, “I mean if you want to spend some time with me then tomorrow morning might be a better time for that. I am tired, I was asleep when you knocked. I don’t think I can really be of much use to you at this moment.”

 

“Use?” Jim raised his eyebrows, “Oh there’s plenty of use for you. But if your one tracked mind thinks I am here to rape you then no, it’s not what I came here for. I came here to discuss some terms and conditions of our partnership.”

 

Sherlock’s brows twitched just as his heart started to beat faster in his ribcage. Terms and conditions of their partnership, why of course Jim would have a few aces up his sleeve, a few tricks and maneuvers that would be out of the way and a complete surprise to others. But Sherlock was determined not to let the surprise factor play on his face or his actions. He was not just anyone, he was the greatest consulting detective in the world, and taking surprises in his stride was part of the expertise he was so known for. “Oh sure,” he said, feigning nonchalance, “Let’s discuss and close those tonight, your terms and conditions and my clarifying questions. I hope you have a list because I do have my own questions ready.”

 

“Don’t try too hard,” Jim said in an amused voice, “Your questions can’t be ready before I put the conditions on the table.”

 

“You mean to say I am lying.”

 

“You’re a sociopath. Not above lying as I see.”

 

“I am not lying.”

 

“All right, shoot.”

 

“Wha….?”

 

“Don’t be boring now. You know very well what I mean. Ask your questions first.”

 

“I’d rather that you discuss the so called terms and conditions first.”

 

“Hmmm,” Jim’s eyes sparkled with indignance and laughter, “That means you have just blown your only chance of giving me a nice stimulating surprise.”

 

 _Shit,_ Sherlock thought, _so I have_. But it was too late to go back on his words. “Go on, tell me what you have to say,” he adamantly demanded.

 

“Help me with the shoes first,” Jim said.

 

Taken aback and yet not totally willing to antagonize the man in his bed, literally, Sherlock bent down and took off Jim’s shoes before removing his socks as well. He felt Jim’s eyes on him, boring holes into his head, as he went about his task. Once done, he avoided eye contact with the smaller man and said, “Do you wanna sit up or are we going to talk like this, with you sprawled out in my bed like you want to get fucked.”

 

Jim snorted, “Like you can fuck me even if I asked you to.”

 

That stung and Sherlock had to fight to keep the look of horror and shame from showing on his face. All his life he had never felt ashamed of his asexuality, his unwillingness to indulge in physical relationships, his willful adoption of a solitary life, but with Jim the whole gamut seemed to have changed. Now he wanted a look of appraisal in Jim’s eyes, a tone of respect in his words and an overall acknowledgement that being inexperienced in bed was no biggie. But Jim seemed to have other plans as he kept chuckling and shaking his head, much to the detective’s annoyance “Well,” he said irritably, “You were saying?”

 

“Rule number one, you won’t go anywhere without telling me and getting my permission first. If you do, I have the ways and means of finding you and keeping you under watch. That won’t be a good experience Sherlylocks. Rule number two, don’t even try to interrupt me or overrule me in front of my aides and clients or I will rip your eyes and tongue out then and there. If you disagree, do that in private. Rule number three, advise me when I ask for it, not because you are in a chatty mood. Rule number four, you will get a new wardrobe, a new identity and an account which is sufficiently funded for your needs. Don’t be an idiot and resist using those resources because you will need them.”

 

Not bad so far. Sherlock nodded, “What else?”

 

“You can be in touch with John and Mycroft and the rest. But use only those channels I provide and don’t do it behind my back. Do that, compromise me and my work, or if you betray me in any way and you’ll never see me again.”

 

A pang of loneliness and loss hit Sherlock. After Redbeard, nothing or no one had made him feel like this. John came a close second but couldn’t evoke similar emotions in him. What was this power Jim had over him and when did he actually start giving him that?

 

“Sherly, don’t zone out, that’s not sexy. It makes you seem retarded.”

 

Trying to remain indifferent and unaffected, Sherlock asked arrogantly, “Any other rules?”

 

“There could be, provided you agree to mixing business with pleasure.”

 

Sherlock looked at him blankly. Jim rolled his eyes and quipped, “Now come on, don’t gawk at me like an idiot. You know very well what I mean. Why do you think I am here when we could have easily discussed these things over breakfast or any other time tomorrow?”

 

“You want us to have sex,” Sherlock stated plainly.

 

Jim let out peals of laughter and rolled back on the bed, clutching at the sheets and shaking all over. Sherlock, through the haze of unease and bewilderment, wondered if Jim was ticklish.

 

“I want us to have sex, ohhhh, how do you come up with some gems,” Jim’s said a good minute later once his laughter had tapered off into snickers and giggles, “Of course we could have sex and in fact I could compel you to do so. I saw your reaction in the tub and at the dinner table so don’t even try to deny it. Your body knows what it wants Sherly, for someone with deductive powers like yours you do a poor job reading the signals of your own body and mind. But then, I am not a rapist nor do I believe in paid sex. If you wanna have sex with me you need to capture my interest at first and then keep me interested. In case that’s not your cup of tea, we will keep this strictly professional and I won’t even touch you.”

 

Instead of relief, Sherlock felt annoyed. Not touch him? Why? Was he so ugly and unappealing?

 

“So that’s your next rule?”

“No, that’s just a point. The next set of rules apply only if you agree to….ahem….mix business with pleasure.”

 

“Just curious,” Sherlock said, trying to gather more data, “If I say yes then what sort of rules apply here?”

 

“Let’s see, those can be a little fluid,” Jim sat up, taking off his shirt and hugging a pillow to his chest, “We can keep it an open relationship if you want. That means we can both sleep with others if we wish to, or throw them in the mix. Threesomes, foursomes, orgies, I am an open-minded man. But it can’t be like Sherlock sleeps with whoever he wants but Jim needs to abstain and become a saint.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Sherlock concluded.

 

“The other rule,” Jim’s jaw hardened this time and he sat up straighter, “Getting into my pants doesn’t mean you control me. I can’t be manipulated Sherlock, I am warning you.”

 

“So no special privileges for your lover?”

 

“None whatsoever aside from the wonderful privilege of sharing my bed and my body.”

 

Sherlock thought quickly and objectively. He did want to experiment with Jim. He did have a strange curiosity about Jim the lover now that he had seen Jim the nemesis, Jim the criminal and Jim the brilliant but cruel man. However, saying yes right away would make him seem too eager and he’d end up being putty in Jim’s hands. He had to wait for the right time to give in to his urges and desires.

 

“No, right now I am not sure I would like to mix business with pleasure.”

 

For a moment Jim looked stunned and that gave Sherlock a tiny sense of victory. He had taken Jim by surprise, finally. But that victory soured quickly as Jim sat up and looked around for his shoes, “In that case I’d better be on my way to my cabin. Wasting time at the wrong place has never been my thing.” No sooner had the criminal mastermind said those words, Sherlock began to panic mildly. Somehow the idea of watching Jim walk out was not very appealing and against his better judgement Sherlock found himself saying ‘That doesn’t mean you can’t sleep here though. We can sleep in one bed without jumping each other’s bones.’

 

“Is that a challenge?” Jim’s brows lowered but his eyes glittered.

 

Sherlock made a mental note. Jim liked challenges as much as he liked risks. “What do you think?” He asked, “Is it really a challenge?”

 

“Only if you think you can’t handle it. Yes, we can share a bed. Do you miss the bed in 221B?”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Sherlock locked the door and came back to bed, “These are trivial things.”

 

“I like comfy beds and soft pillows,” Jim said absentmindedly as he started to strip, causing Sherlock’s pulse to race, “I always did.”

 

Soon the man was as naked as the day he was born. Sherlock’s breath caught in his chest and throat. _God, he does love to play me and slow torture me emotionally_. “Put on your boxers at least,” he said in a hoarse voice which was caused by arousal seeping into it, not daring to look at the shorter man. Forget mixing business with pleasure, he wanted to dive deep into pleasure and forego business completely, such was his attraction towards the diminutive Irishman.

 

“God, you are such a whiney little boy,” Jim said in mock disgust but obliged, “I am not used to sleeping with my clothes on.”

 

“You did when we were at my place.”

 

“I respected your house rules. You should respect mine.”

 

“Just for tonight, please.”

 

“Hmmmff,” Jim drank both glasses of water on the nightstand and turned to his side, facing away from Sherlock, “Refill the glasses and keep one on my side of the bed. Good night.”

 

Dismayed by the anti-climactic end to their chat Sherlock whispered sullenly, ‘Good night’.

 

***

 

Mycroft entered his house and promptly dismissed his housekeeper who was thoroughly surprised. She usually served dinner at seven before heading back home and report back to work again at eight the next morning. By then Mycroft would be done with his one hour on the treadmill and read the newspaper while she prepared breakfast. “All well Mr. Holmes,” she asked as he put on her coat and gloves, “What about dinner?”

 

“I’ll heat it,” Mycroft replied, “I am not hungry. Might eat later, maybe at nine, no point in holding you back till then.”

 

Once she had left, Mycroft went to his study and unlocked a secret vault he kept amidst the bookshelves. Using the unique code only he knew, he opened the inner door of this sanctum sanctorum which held a few items close to his heart. Correction, it held items that he wanted to keep discreetly and out of reach, hidden from everyone else. Nobody knew about this hidden vault, not even Greg or mummy, the two people he was closest to. Of course he was close to Sherlock as well but he also feared his little brother’s powers of observation and deductions. If Sherlock even had a tiny hint about this he was sure to find ways to lay his hands on the contents of the vault.

 

Mycroft couldn’t afford that. He just couldn’t. Nobody was supposed to be privy to a couple of secrets in his personal and professional life. Or maybe there were more than a couple. He looked at the contents. Quite a few of them, all neatly kept on a thin sheet of cloth. They were from various periods of his life, starting at nineteen and going on to his current age of forty-two.

 

The photograph of a girl named Tamara, the only woman he dated before he had discovered his sexuality and dropped her like a hot potato. She had overdosed a few months later and died.

 

Then there was the file he had stolen and stored from World Bank. In case of an economic holocaust he was supposed to use it to save England and also some of his powerful friends.

 

There was also a USB drive containing secrets he had never cared to reveal because that would have saved a dangerous man moonlighting as a spiritual guru. Instead the guru got hanged and Mycroft was sure he had saved thousands from his poisonous cult and teachings.

 

Finally, there was a photograph and a CD that contained details of a very special person in his life. Mycroft had never been regretful of his secrets and was sure that he had done the right thing at the right time, no matter the consequences of them. But in this one particular case he felt regret all the time and a strange melancholy took over his mind and heart whenever he recollected the incidents.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered as he gently fingered the photograph, “Forgive me.”


	8. Tumbles and Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson gives John some pep-talk while Sherlock and Jim continue their cat and mouse game

“Hello John,” Mrs. Hudson looked up from her knitting, “You see, I am too slow nowadays. I promised you and Sherlock matching mufflers this winter but it doesn’t seem I can complete this before spring. What used to take me 1 month takes me 3 months nowadays.” 

“You can relax and do this slowly Mrs. H,” John sat down on the comfortable single seater couch, “It doesn’t seem like we need the mufflers before next winter. Sherlock has decided to take off for some unknown destination and left me a note saying he’ll be away for a year.” 

Mrs. Hudson let out a huge sigh. For a moment she opened her mouth but held her words in check as she put down the knitting and poured some tea in her cup. “Okay, that’s a blow for you and for some of us as well. Be a darling and get a cup for yourself from the kitchen, will you? I am sure we’ll need some tea as we discuss this……again.” She sounded tired and disappointed, as if she could recollect the two years of horror she had gone through when Sherlock was considered deceased. Visiting his grave every Sunday, praying and lighting candles in the church, staring teary eyed at the flat that lacked the presence of the eccentric detective, she remembered it all with shuddering grief. 

John came back with a cup shortly and held it for the landlady to fill. 

“So how are you coping with it?” Mrs. Hudson asked. 

“Me?” John shrugged, “I have given up.” 

“Given up what? On him?” 

“No, not exactly. But I have given up expecting him to act like us, like normal people.” 

“I agree. He is eccentric, but also adorable. He is unpredictable but also vulnerable. Someone you can neither rely on nor give up on. Anyways, why did he suddenly do this? I saw him every day and he didn’t seem any different from his usual self. The same old quirks, same quiet and brooding periods followed by sudden bursts of energy, the same strange sleep patterns and playing violin at midnight. Did you notice something I might have missed out on?” 

John shook his head and sipped his tea, closing his eyes as the Oolong warmed his throat and chest, “No. Same obsession towards work, same sharp insights into cases, same nightmares once in a while, same sarcasm and satire in speech, he didn’t behave differently…..wait, last weekend he seemed very eager to attend the family lunch at his mother’s place. Usually he gets annoyed that he has to go.” 

“Oh,” she looked thoughtful, “Do you think it was a ‘so long’ kind of visit?” 

“I talked to them. Mycroft was also there. No, no such hints dropped. But I noticed something else….now that I am thinking about it…..he was nervous. He had a certain anxious energy about him which I had attributed to a past case or the current lack of one. Clearly I had misplaced the reasons. Wait, wait, there is more. The last case he handled, he was impatient to close it. Usually he isn’t. He does want to solve cases as quickly as possible but not at the cost of accuracy, truth or quality. This time around he was skipping steps, snapping about the paperwork, distracted. Not so much that most would have noticed but not so less than I wouldn’t have noticed.” 

John’s face fell as those moments he had just recollected came back to him one after the other. 

“But initially you really didn’t notice those subtle differences,” Mrs. Hudson commented without any hint of accusation at John, “But that’s fine, we all do that from time to time so don’t beat yourself up over it. His departure this time was not at all expected. Last time there was a Moriarty case and anything could have happened. We were prepared for any eventuality. This time around there was no such threat and no such possibilities that Sherlock might be compromised. This time we, or even Mycroft, can control the situation. This is something Sherlock seems to have done on his own volition. Which is why I think we should just wait and hope for his wellbeing.” 

John looked away, shaking his head. 

“I know,” she said, “Easier said than done, right?” 

“Can’t just do nothing,” the doctor said, “He said I should concentrate on getting my surgeon’s license. I’ll do that but that’s not going to take up as much time as Sherlock takes up.” 

“Sherlock can become an occupation for all of us eh?” Mrs. Hudson offered a mirthless smile, “How does someone do that? Be so annoying and condescending and demanding and yet leave people craving for their presence. Some gift he has!” 

“He does have a gift,” John sighed, “Which becomes a curse for us.” 

“Curse,” Mrs. Hudson gently tapped John’s hand, “A curse we have to live with, or we can convert to a blessing.” 

“How?”

“By respecting his decision. See, I know and understand your pain but you have chosen to be close to a free spirit, a kindred and fiery spirit. Take his independence and his wings away, he will become someone he is not, someone you can’t recognize. If he truly loves you he will come back here and if he doesn’t, then he never was yours. I think we have both heard those lines before, right?” 

John bit down on his bottom lip, “Right.” 

***

“Stop moving around,” Jim snapped at Sherlock, “I can’t sleep.” 

Sherlock understood why Jim was cranky. For the past two and half hours he had been tossing and turning in bed and sighing or coughing and snorting. There had been the occasional whine as well as he was increasingly frustrated by his inability to sleep. Jim on the other hand was fast asleep next to him, clearly used to sleeping anywhere or next to anyone, but Sherlock was neither that flexible nor so skilled at hiding his arousal. It was one thing to be alone, jerk off, imagine Jim had not come back in his life at all. It was completely something else to have the object of his desire right next to him, be able to smell him, touch him, and yet maintain distance and control his body’s urges. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb,” Sherlock stated softly and after a final resigned sigh, got out of bed and walked towards the porthole window at the far corner of the room. He took out a cigarette and opened the porthole window slightly, shivering as the cold wind poured in. It was a good thing though, it sobered him up and he felt his body regain some semblance of control as he lit the cigarette. Taking a few deep drags he let out the smoke and closed his eyes, leaning against the wall close to the window, staring out at the waves dancing around their ship. 

“Sherly,” Jim’s voice came again, “What are you doing man?” 

“What have I done now?” Sherlock snapped back, angry now. 

“You are filling the room with smoke and ohhh….cold air, my balls are freezing.” 

“Stop whining.” 

“You’re doing this on purpose right? To keep me awake because you’re a night owl that can’t fucking sleep.” 

“Then go and sleep in your room.” 

“WHAT? Say that again.” 

Sherlock took a deep breath and his face crumpled. He hated himself overreacting like this but Jim wasn’t making things easy for him either. Without answering he turned around and looked at the small figure sitting up on the bed, shrouded in the darkness of the cabin. 

When Jim spoke next, his tone was soft, surprisingly soft. 

“C’mere.” 

“Why?” 

“Or I will cut off your balls.” 

Sherlock suddenly felt anger and dismay course through him and in a sudden move he tossed the cigarette out of the window and sprang at an unsuspecting Jim who was still sitting on the bed and expecting a verbal sparring. The yelp from the criminal was followed by a growl from Sherlock and suddenly then were both wrestling, the covers twisting and draping over them and the bed creaking and groaning under their weight. One moment Sherlock had the upper hand and the next moment Jim would steal that from him, soon Sherlock would overpower Jim again only to have Jim switch their positions with surprising strength and sit astride him triumphantly, grinning in the darkness like a demon. 

They rolled this way and the other, pillows thrown off, sheets getting pulled off the edges of the mattress, things rattling on the nightstands. At one point, while none of them were watching which they were rolling or shifting, with a resounding thump they landed on the floor. 

“Owwwww my back,” Sherlock yowled. 

“Oh…..hahahahaha……your face…..hehehehehe,” Jim laughed, sitting on Sherlock and thoroughly enjoying his predicament. The fall had not hurt him since he had literally glided down with Sherlock beneath him, sitting on top of him like a child riding an inflatable toy. 

“You jerk,” Sherlock twisted and bowed his back to check the injury and the extent to which his body was impacted. It was sore and would probably hurt bad for a day or two but nothing was broken at least. 

“I always said the fall doesn’t kill you, the landing does…..ohhhhh…..hohohohoho!!!” 

“Stop laughing,” Sherlock said, not sure why he felt like laughing too, “Seriously, just stop.” But a second later that infectious laughter had gotten to him as well and he began to snicker softly at first, followed by full bodied and full-throated laughter. Jim stopped for a moment, taken aback by Sherlock’s reaction, but soon the humor caught back on and he joined the detective in their mindless fun. 

A tap on the door made them both stop and cup their mouths. 

“Excuse me sir,” a female voice asked, “We heard some sounds. Are you both all right?” 

Sherlock blushed purple. “How many people know you’re in my cabin?” He hissed at Jim. 

Jim frowned, “Why would I bother to hide? This is my boat and I could be anywhere.” 

“Sir……” 

“Oh yeah,” Jim answered on their behalf, “We are both fine. Goodnight.” 

They climbed back on the bed and lay down side by side, remnants of their laughter and adrenalin still rushing through their veins. That bout of laughter had calmed them down though and slowly their eyelids grew heavier, sleep lulling their bodies into inaction. But a nagging discomfort remained and neither could figure out why until it occurred to them that the bed had been trashed and the room was too cold. Jim tried to straighten the sheets while Sherlock tried to pile on the blankets. A steady draft was blowing right through them and even the blankets didn’t seem to be helping much. Their toes and hands were now freezing. 

“Oh you idiot,” Jim quipped, raising his head and noticing the source of the cold draft, “You left the porthole window open. Now stop scowling at me and shut it and bolt it. In the meantime I will make the bed. I can’t sleep with the sheets bunched up under me.” 

Sherlock grumpily went to do as he was told and visited the washroom thereafter to take a piss, staying there a bit longer than necessary. He wanted Jim to be in bed before he joined him there. Or should he take the couch…..

“What are you doing in there?” Jim walked right in. 

“Hey, next time just knock,” Sherlock brushed past him and walked back into the bedroom. 

A minute later he heard the toilet flush and Jim came back to bed. “Thanks to you I can’t sleep now,” Jim grumbled, pushing Sherlock away even though Sherlock had kept a foot’s distance between them, “I am awake as a fucking owl.” He rolled over and lay on his back, then rolled over again and faced Sherlock, reaching out to him and giving him a rough shake on the shoulder. “Tell me a story,” he insisted, much to the detective’s shock. 

“You serious?” Sherlock asked, eyes widening. 

“Yeah, a good story. Which part of my request didn’t you understand? Okay, why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Because I had no idea I was adopting someone. I thought this was a partnership.” 

“A partnership you chose to keep as strictly professional and then you decided to invite me to sleep in your bed. Who is making the rules here and breaking them? Then you have he audacity to call me your adopted…..do you view me as a son or an offspring Sherlock?” 

“Jim……all right I will tell you a story.” 

“Yessss,” Jim closed his eyes, smile evident on his full lips as he waited for the other man to begin, “Go on, tell me.” 

***

Sherlock had slept almost at four. Jim had slept at least three hours earlier, about ten minutes into the story started by Sherlock. He had started with a silly fairytale which had lasted three minutes, then started a fragmented and broken storyline he remembered from a soap he’d watched as a child. One minute into that tale he was finally browbeaten by Jim to tell a story about one of his ‘cases’. Sherlock had started off reluctantly but found that to be a much better option. Not only did the words fly out of his mouth, he was excited about narrating his case rather than lethargic and bored at being forced to tell tales. 

Somehow watching Jim fall asleep seemed far more intimate and fulfilling than the thought of having sex with him. 

But when he woke up around noon he was dismayed to find that Jim had gone already and the bed, along with the room and his heart, was empty. The sheets were cold, indicating at least a two-hour period between Jim’s departure and Sherlock’s first wakeful moment that morning. Not sure why it bothered him to wake up alone, considering that he always woke up alone in his bed in 221B, he smoked a cigarette in bed before asking for tea over the intercom. Once the tea had arrived with a couple of biscuits, he devoured them and padded into the shower to get ready for the day. 

For the entire day he didn’t get much time with Jim. He saw the Irishman around a few times but every single time Jim was busy and neck deep in work. Either he was on a teleconference call or Skyping someone or simply talking to one of his aides who was also on board the ship. 

To make things worse, Sherlock was asked if he would dine in the mess hall with the rest or in his cabin as Jim and his aides were doing a ‘working dinner’ in the boardroom on the top level. None of them would dine in the private dining room that night. 

“Room please,” he said dejectedly, trying not to let it show. 

“Anything you’d like to order? We have a set menu for a four-course dinner but you can always order something off the menu or we can ask the chef for something special.” 

“Nah. I shall have what Jim is having.” 

The dinner Jim was having was replicated for Sherlock and the detective felt a thrilling shiver run down his spine when he saw what was on the menu. Rack of lamb cooked in Moroccan spices, jacket potatoes roasted with rosemary, bitters salad with lemon-ginger dressing and a small pudding with fresh fruits. Well cooked, every dish at the right temperature, neatly presented, Sherlock was impressed with dinner. The loveliest way to end a fulfilling day. 

Yet a void remained until he heard a knock at ten-thirty pm and Jim’s voice outside his door.

***

“No need to look so smug,” Sherlock said as he sat on Jim’s butt and massaged his shoulders and upper back, “You don’t have me at your beck and call. I am doing this only because I am bored and you were whining like a little girl about your back ache.” 

“The greatest detective in the world massaging my back….aaaaaah,” Jim teased, body shaking with laughter. 

Sherlock wanted to make a smart comment but the words got stuck to his throat when he accidentally caught a glimpse of a tattoo on Jim’s right butt cheek. As he slid downwards to sit on Jim’s thigh, mostly to be able to massage the man’s lower back, the boxers Jim was wearing had also shifted down and uncovered part of his butt. At first Sherlock’s senses were assaulted by the unexpected sight of Jim’s naked butt, followed by a deep rush of desire when he saw that tattoo on the right cheek. It was a colorful tattoo of a Phoenix rising from the ashes, where the ashes were created in the shape of planet Earth. 

“Unnnggggg don’t stoppp,” Jim complained, shifting about. 

“The tattoo,” Sherlock said. 

“What?” 

“You have a tattoo on your right butt cheek.” 

“Yeah so? Why are you telling me something I already know?” 

“So you can tell me more about it.” 

Jim was silent for a moment. Then he sighed, “You are a deducing genius. Why don’t you tell me more about it and I can confirm or deny.” 

Sherlock stared at the tattoo for a grand total of thirty seconds and began to rattle off his findings. “This is not your style as you are more interested in numbers and codes and this is more abstract hints and symbolism. You are not someone who would get something as permanent as a tattoo unless you really like the design or you have great affinity for the person who designed it. From the way it is right now, it wasn’t made too long ago, about three odd years. Also, it’s on your butt cheek, so the person who wanted you to do this must be……” 

Sherlock felt jealousy burn through him. It fried his common sense. He was sure if he shook his head his curls would produce enough static electricity to light a wood fire. 

He abruptly got off from Jim’s body and went to the bathroom. He had to hide his expression.


	9. Observe and Learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock learns fellatio and gets his first criminal assignment....well almost!

“Sherlock, Sherly, Sherrrrlylocks,” Jim sang, tapping constantly and in an irritating cadence on the bathroom door.

 

“Gosh, can’t a man have some privacy?” Sherlock barked back.

 

In his head he was calculating Jim’s responses and analyzing. The Irishman had waited around five minutes before he had begun calling out Sherlock’s name. After ten minutes he had started knocking on the door and teasing him to come out. He had replied twenty-three times in the negative and still Jim refused to give up. “Come on Sherly, what did I say that offended you…..orrrr, what did you deduce that offended you? C’moooon I am not someone who cares about sentiments so stuff those where the sun don’t shine and come outta there like a good little boy.”

 

_Go on Sherlock, go back out and don’t create a scene. He neither has emotions nor is he empathetic towards anybody. He’ll get annoyed and irritated with you and you could lose him._

 

“NO,” Sherlock snapped at himself. Then he realized Jim would have heard that and taken it as a reply to him. He quickly added, “Give me two minutes.”

 

“Kay!”

 

When he came back out his heart almost stopped with thrill induced shock. That cunning bastard Jim was lying naked on the bed. Since he lay on his front Sherlock couldn’t quite see the erection but with the way Jim’s hips moved a little now and then, he was surely hard and aroused. Why else would he grind down against the sheets? “Hey you,” Jim said as he turned his head and winked at Sherlock, “Was that a bad case of diarrhea? I guess it was, wasn’t it baby boy?”

 

“You are so bad at this,” Sherlock said snootily, “I just wanted to clear my head.”

 

“So that’s what I mean,” Jim snickered.

 

“Whatcha mean? You said diarrhea.”

 

“I meant brain diarrhea.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes widened.

 

Jim laughed merrily. “You are so easy to read through. Your expressions, oh man, they give me a roadmap right into that brain of yours. While that’s very sharp, it often forgets to accompany your silly heart whenever it decides to take a stroll. Isn’t that cute? Isn’t your jealousy cute and so easy to stoke?”

 

Things connected in Sherlock’s mind and he nearly slapped his own face. Of course, Jim had purposefully shown him the tattoo. All it took was a clever move of his hips and the silky fabric would have slid down as Sherlock moved. Then he had asked the detective to deduce about the tattoo, knowing fully well that he would see right through that tattoo and understand everything related to it. This was a clever ploy to get Sherlock all roasted with jealousy and possessiveness.

 

But for what joy?

 

Then Jim Moriarty performed his wicked trick and the rest of the fog cleared from Sherlock’s mind. This was Jim’s way of seducing him and getting past the Chinese wall of inhibitions that Sherlock couldn’t quite shake off!!! As the mastermind rolled over to lie on his back, his huge hard cock slapped against his flat abs and drooled at the tip, creating a shiny patch there. Jim lazily stroked himself as he stared sideways at Sherlock, evidently enjoying the look of appalled surrender on the Englishman’s handsome face. He curled up his long and slender legs and planted his heels firmly on the mattress, partially exposing the most private part of him.

 

Then he said something which was so silly that it nearly spoiled all the mood.

 

“What are you doing Jim?”

 

Jim almost choked with laughter while Sherlock blushed right down to his waistline. He wanted to turn and run back into the bathroom but Jim’s wolfish laughter was so insulting that he had to formulate a comeback to this. He couldn’t just run away like an embarrassed child.

 

“Ohhhh virgin,” Jim said between peals of laughter, “How I adore thee?”

 

Sherlock squirmed with embarrassment.

 

“C’mon, do you even know where to put it?”

 

That was it! That was the moment Sherlock snapped. Everything that was holding him back evaporated into that shrieking laughter and Sherlock found himself reacting in a way he would have never imagined. With a sound close to a growl he lunged at Jim and fell on top of him on the bed, pinning him down bodily on the mattress and staring at him like a predator. At first Jim yelped, the entire weight of Sherlock crushing him momentarily. His laughter stopped thereafter. Then, a look of awe and surprise came over those caramel coloured eyes.

 

“From now on my little darling,” Sherlock spoke in a voice that was alien to him, a voice filled with lust, anger and possessiveness, “No more games.”

 

“No more games,” Jim shook his head, eyes transfixed on Sherlock’s face.

 

“I will own you.”

“You will own me.”

 

Sherlock kissed him hard, putting tongue and teeth into the kiss and after a second’s shock Jim began to kiss him back. At first they gasped into the kiss, pleasantly surprised by how many sensations stirred in them due to that intimate contact, before both began to moan into the prolongued lip-lock. Jim’s legs slowly parted wider and Sherlock found himself lying on top of him, Jim’s thighs pressing into him as his hips began small movements of their own. Soon Sherlock’s hips began to rock too and he pushed enough clothes aside to make skin contact with his nemesis turned business partner turned lover. When their erections touched, Jim cried out in a voice so sexy that Sherlock almost came on the spot.

 

_He must not mock my controls, must not think I am a virgin that doesn’t last long, must not ridicule my lack of stamina. I won’t let him, I won’t give him the chance, I won’t make him think I am good for nothing in bed._

 

Sherlock tried to think about all possible non-sexy situations to keep his orgasm at bay. His body was beginning to betray him but his razor-sharp mind came to the rescue as he directed his thoughts towards Charles Augustus Magnussen in a jockstrap, Mycroft’s lectures, Phil Andersen and Sally Donovan in bed together, John nagging him about the condition of the flat, the dismal London weather, Donald Trump in a sarong.

 

Yeah that worked. His orgasm ebbed though his erection continued to rage and throb. To his satisfaction he noticed how Jim was achingly hard too and gasping beneath him, thrusting up as emphatically as Sherlock was grinding down on him.

 

They freed their mouths to draw in gulps of air before the kiss started again. Sherlock’s hands travelled down Jim’s body, tracing the bony edges of it, while Jim’s nails drug crescent moon shapes on Sherlock’s back, breaking the skin there and drawing blood.

 

Sherlock hissed and, as his hands slipped underneath Jim’s buttocks, he squeezed the twin globes hard. God, he so wanted to do this!

 

Jim tore his mouth free and let out a loud moan.

 

Next moment hot semen spilled between their bodies and Sherlock shuddered as hard as Jim had, feeling more and more warmth spread between their bellies. His heart hammered in his ribcage and he let out a cry of what sounded like Jim’s name.

 

When things calmed down somewhat and their rocking stopped, Sherlock realized their orgasm had been simultaneous. He had cum without even realizing it.

 

***

 

Sherlock woke up some hours later, disoriented and unable to remember where he was. He looked around. Definitely not 221B. He looked downwards, definitely not alone in bed.

 

Then it all came back to him.

 

Like the veil being lifted off a beauteous creature and revealing a stunning face behind it, memories of those hot, erotic, amatory moments came back to him and brought back an amazing sense of joy and pleasure to Sherlock. A few hours earlier he had gotten intimate with Jim Moriarty, their first time together. Though they hadn’t gone all the way, it was a nice start and the ice had surely broken between them. Mutual humping, if he were to put it in words, had made way for them to give each other a joint orgasm. Afterwards they had fallen into a welcome post-coital sleep, probably almost instantly, because the detective didn’t remember a thing after he had cum.

 

He remembered being on top of Jim with his sleep pants around his knees and his sleep shirt off his shoulder and draped around one of his arms. Right now none of them were on him so he must have kicked them away sometime. Their positions had reversed and he was the one lying on his back on the bed right now and Jim was lying half on top, half beside him and sleeping soundly. Those soft dark hairs tickled his chin and neck and Jim muttered something irritably when Sherlock moved slightly.

 

He would have loved to stay like that but one of his arms, the one Jim was lying on, had numbed beyond belief. Bolts of pain shot through it and Sherlock was forced to pry Jim off himself and gently roll him on to the mattress.

 

“What the fuck,” Jim snapped, eyes half-open, “Stay on your side of the bed.”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Sherlock smacked Jim’s rum gently and got out of bed. His bladder was full.

 

When he came back he saw the first rays of dawn appearing on the eastern horizon. The sea was calm. The temperature outside was subzero and one would be freezing on the deck. The cabin on the other hand was cozy and warm without being uncomfortably hot. Sherlock smiled.

 

His heat felt lighter, happy as a lark, hopeful. It had been a long time since he had felt like this. He stood by one of the porthole windows and enjoyed watching the sun rise, a smile on his lips all the time.

 

When he went back to bed after almost an hour, Jim was lying on his back and his morning wood stood flat against his abs. Definitely some nice dreams then.

 

Something worked up inside Sherlock and he stealthily climbed back in bed, between Jim’s slightly open legs, before he pushed the Irishman’s thighs apart. Jim moaned softly and his hand came down to rest on his pubes. One of his fingers twitched.

 

Sherlock licked his lips at the sight of his lover’s cock. Thick, reasonably long length, a pretty pink at the tip with a darker near burgundy base, a slight curve visible in its tumescent stage.

 

_You have never done this before, don’t try to show off or you’ll end up looking like a fool._

 

Sherlock pushed those fears and inhibitions aside and sniffed at Jim’s groin, enjoying the musky, spicy scent. Fearful people never achieved anything remotely great. Even dry humping Jim had done enormous favors to his confidence and, fueled by his libido and curiosity, he threw caution to the winds and plunged his mouth down on the rock-hard erection. As his lips, slick with saliva (he suddenly realized he had been drooling like a hungry dog with a bone in front of it), slid down the head of Jim’s cock the thick man meat twitched in his mouth. Sherlock let out a moan at that and the vibrations from that sound woke Jim up. At first his legs tensed, then a small moan came out of his mouth.

 

“I…what…Sherl….aaaaaah!”

 

Sherlock was so pleased with Jim’s response that he went at it with double gusto, bobbing his head up and down in the earnest. He remembered all the porn he had watched or the steamy books he had read back in his teenage days and tried to apply the meagre tricks learned from them. He licked at the slit, massaged the heavy balls and rolled them in his palm, caressed the smooth thighs, relaxed his throat to let Jim fuck his mouth and tried to swallow Jim right up to the root. Some of them worked, some didn’t work so well, but overall Jim seemed very much into it.

 

He was writhing now, lifting his hips as he grabbed the back of Sherlock’s head and tried to keep him there. For a second it seemed like he was about to cum but Jim continued to hold back, digging his heels into Sherlock’s lower back and enjoying being fellated by the detective.

 

This continued with Jim enjoying it thoroughly and Sherlock pleasing him with great eagerness.

 

Sherlock’s jaw had begun to ache after a while. It had been nearly seven minutes at least. Jim didn’t seem any closer to coming than he was before. But just as Sherlock was about to take a breather, Jim’s hips suddenly gave a jerk.

 

“Ohhhhhfucccckkkk……Sherly let go….let goooo….I’ll cum otherwise…..oh fuck…..can’t hold it.”

 

Semen hit his tongue and the very next moment Sherlock’s vision blurred. He began to cum merely from the feel of Jim’s cock throbbing against his tongue and throat. His hips rocked against the bed as he rode out his orgasm and during the same time he swallowed Jim’s spunk.

 

Damn! He had actually enjoyed the taste. He had just swallowed a man’s essence and loved the way its aftertaste lingered in his mouth. How could that be?

 

By the time they had gone past the aftershocks and Jim’s cock was softening against his inner cheek, Sherlock looked up through his lashes and saw Jim staring down at him. There was something in those dark eyes which worried him though. Jim looked wary, disturbed even.

 

Those deep dark eyes closed and when they reopened that look was gone, replaced by a sparkle of delight. “Where did you learn that bitch?” Jim smiled.

 

“On the fly,” Sherlock mumbled, eyes closing. Somehow this effort and his mammoth orgasm had drained him out and he lay there with his head on Jim’s thigh, one of Jim’s hands on his head. When Jim began to card his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, the detective could barely keep his eyes open. He yawned wide and settled more comfortably there, unwilling to move back into position next to Jim and enjoying that soft touch in his hairs. Soon Jim’s finger movements slowed down, as did his breathing sounds, indicating he was falling asleep too. Sherlock wrapped his arm around Jim’s hips and slid off to sleep, a smile still playing at the corner of his lips.

 

***

 

“W-We will reach tomorrow,” Jim said, “St-stay in the villa no-orth of the city. S-Safehouse.”

 

“Give me a peek into your plans,” Sherlock asked.

 

Jim wanted to answer but he was seriously compromised by the dipping temperatures. He shivered in the cold Arctic wind. They were very close to the Norwegian coast and the North winds blew full scale around them. Even with protective gear on, Jim looked frozen. The tip of his nose was almost blue, his cheeks were red and his teeth were chattering mildly. Sherlock could hear it above the sounds of the waves. On an impulse he took off his Belstaff coat and draped it over Jim’s shoulders. It was cold without the coat but he had his sweater, jacket and muffler on. He would easily last an hour or more without that thick coat of his. “Comfortable now?” He asked Jim, looking at the smaller man who was wriggling a bit and getting cozy inside the huge frock coat of Sherlock’s.

 

“Y-Yeah.”

 

“Let’s head inside.”

 

“M-Might be a better i-idea.”

 

They settled in at the bar on the second level but chose to have hot chocolate instead of a drink. Sherlock noticed that Jim was not big on drinks. He made a note in his head to observe and find out why.

 

“In Oslo we have a scientist named Nikolai Kristiansen,” Jim began, “He has developed a virus that can be planted in both crops and animals. We plan to do that in a couple of third world countries and a few odd second world nations. The US of A, as always, will panic the moment they hear of this new virus and to protect its citizens the government there will announce an extensive research and the development of a new vaccine.”

 

“That’s where we shall step in?”

 

“Yes precisely. When panic has sufficiently spread around and our media hounds have caused more upheaval than the actual virus has, we strike the hot iron and make a dollar impression. We will have the antidote ready, as well as the means to eradicate the virus completely. At first we will introduce only the antidote and make a ton of money from countries like US, UK, France, Germany, Russia, Australian, China, Japan and India. Once the panic levels drop and better sense prevails, they will try to find out the root of the virus. Now, we must not let that happen because that could lead them to Dr Kristiansen and eventually one odd trail to lead right up to us.”

 

“That’s when we eradicate the virus?”

 

“Oh yes. Loop closed.”

 

“If I may ask, how much do we make?”

 

“We?” Jim raised a brow.

 

“You,” Sherlock course corrected himself.

 

“You can say we,” Jim shrugged, brushing it off casually, “Estimated profits from this assignment run into billions but half of it would need to be peeled off and put aside to cover the costs…..or in other words, the investment we made into this. Then we have people to bribe and people to pay. After all the payments have been made and all evidence buried, what I would have left in my pockets is just about enough to buy a mid-size private island somewhere in the Bermuda.”

 

The corners of Sherlock’s mouth curled up and he quipped. “Do I get paid too?”

 

“If you work with me, then of course.”

 

“What do I have to do here?”

 

“This is the first time you’re on a job with me so no active part yet. Just be there and watch and observe. I don’t want you to get hurt…..I mean get compromised and end up being a burden.”

 

Though a trifle disappointed at not being given a role in this ‘job’, Sherlock did realize that Jim was doing this to protect him. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll observe and learn. But next time I want an active part.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patience, proper Sheriarty smut will be served soon. It's cooking right now.


	10. The problem with angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jim sail towards Norway for their first 'shared' mission. Meanwhile in London Anthea touches a sore spot from Mycroft's past.

Two naked bodies writhed hard on the bed as the ship sailed over rocky waters that night. They rolled on the mattress, one way first and then the other, lips and tongue brushing each other, moans spilling out, limbs tangling and detangling, gasps and groans punctuating their movements as the sheets near burned under the heat of their passion. Sherlock slid down Jim’s body and began to mouth his cock but this time Jim stopped him and made a sudden demand that froze the blood in Sherlock’s veins.

 

“Fuck me Sherly. I need it so bad tonight.”

 

Sherlock was in a complete fix. He had never done this before. Though he had done some mutual masturbation with a couple of men and had sex with two women, one of them being the dominatrix and the other a prostitute who also happened to be an informer, never had he taken the leading role in bed. Never before had he experienced penetrative sex with a man, let alone prepared him and gotten him ready for it, and starting off with Jim seemed like a daunting task. He didn’t want to disappoint Jim and become a major turnoff for the man, nor did he want to refuse him and let him down in this state of arousal. Jim was hard and rubbing himself against Sherlock’s hip, desperately.

 

His hesitation must have been evident in his body language because Jim suddenly stopped moving and nibbled on Sherlock’s lobe, “What happened?”

 

“You want me to spell it out?”

 

“You don’t know what’s the next step?”

 

“No. I have an idea though.”

 

“Just say it then.”

 

“Say what?”

 

“Ask me to help you with it. And don’t forget to say please.”

 

Sherlock blinked and thought for a quick moment. Then he said, “How about you fuck me instead?”

 

That came out way too soon and Sherlock bit down on his tongue. Damn it, did he just say that? How utterly ridiculous of him! He had never had anal sex before and now he was willingly offering his arse to a man known for being sadistic. What if Jim damaged him?

 

“No, he can’t.”

 

“Who can’t what?”

 

Sherlock blinked again, realizing he had spoken out aloud. He looked down at Jim, his face a bit flushed from both arousal and shyness, and decided that he had to take this risk and entrust himself into the Irishman’s hands. He had trusted Jim with his life and future, agreed to enter a world of crime just to be with him, moved away from his home and friends simply because Jim’s presence was too lucrative to lose. What was a mere sexual surrender as compared to all of that. “Nothing,” he said, “I am all yours.”

 

***

 

Sherlock was nice and easy and relaxed as he lay on his front on the bed, hips lifted slightly by a pillow that Jim had pushed under his pelvis. As long as Jim was kissing his butt cheeks and drizzling scented oil on his crack he was okay, but the moment the pad of Jim’s index finger began to massage the detective’s tiny opening, he started to tense up. “No no no no, shhhh,” Jim kissed Sherlock’s tail bone and shushed him when the Englishman made a small croaking noise, “If you tense up and resist you’ll end up hurting yourself. Just relax and let me open you up nicely and slowly.”

 

It took some time and effort but Sherlock did manage to relax eventually. When the first digit entered him he almost wanted Jim to stop but with a little patience and determination he stuck on with his resolve and soon pain turned into pleasure and arousal.

 

Jim didn’t hurry up at all and seemed to be very patient as he prepared his lover. Though Sherlock could feel Jim’s raging hard-on rubbing against his calves, Jim didn’t seem to rush through the process just so he could come to the next phase of it. Only when Sherlock was completely relaxed and open, four of Jim’s fingers lodged in his arse easily, did Jim finally decide it was enough. By then Sherlock was moaning with need and pushing up his butt repeatedly to seek more friction. When Jim pulled his fingers out, Sherlock let out a whine and murmured ‘Feels so empty’.

 

“You did well,” Jim whispered into his ears and Sherlock felt a nudge at his opening.

 

“Oh…that’s….Jim are you…..?” Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. He was feeling to stretched.

 

“No, relax, that’s just my fingers,” Jim replied in a tight voice.

 

“Ah……I….that’s not….fuck that’s big….uhnnnnn!”

 

“Easy.”

 

“FUCK.”

 

Jim pushed in all the way, punctuating every word he said with a pause and a small thrust.

 

“I.Know.It’s.Not.Easy.To.Take.A.Full.Blown.Dick.Up.Your.Arse. Just try to relax Sherly.”

 

Sherlock turned his face to one side and snarled, “Easier said than done. You’re fucking big.”

 

“Even for a narcissist like me it’s hard to believe that compliment,” Jim’s chuckling breath was hot in Sherlock’s ears, “I am above average there, not big. You’re bigger. But I know Sherly, it’s virgin talk. Taking a totally erect stick up your tiny tight arsehole isn’t easy. But if you tense up and resist, it’s gonna hurt even more……” Jim could barely hold himself still as his body begged him to dive right in and begin to thrust and pull. But damaging Sherlock at this stage was not his plans and he didn’t want to scare the man off after their first proper encounter. He sneaked his hand around Sherlock’s waist, pulled him up a little and began to jerk off his faltering erection.

 

Sherlock realized the effort Jim was putting in to enable him to enjoy this rather than just go through it. That was far more arousing and satisfying than any form of sex and he slowly began to melt into those ministrations. The tense muscles around Jim’s hard cock began to relax and the thick rod between his legs started to stiffen once more between Jim’s fingers. Jim realized this too and a moan left his throat, his hips beginning to move all by themselves. He couldn’t control them anymore.

 

“I….uh Sherly, I need to….”

 

“Do me.”

 

“You sure virgin?”

 

“No more.”

 

Sherlock had had enough of this virgin jokes. He was eager to please Jim and even more eager to make the man appreciate him as a quick learner. Forgetting all possible consequences, he began to move back and forth, fucking himself on Jim’s cock.

 

It worked. He heard Jim groan and grab his hips to stop him. “You idiot,” the Irish accent was thick at that time, “You could have fookin hurt yourself.”

 

“I’m lovin it.”

 

“You’re mimicking my accent you bastard.”

 

“A bastard you would love fucking so much you’d never look at anyone else while I’m around.”

 

“Yeah, for a year.”

 

“Damn it. You do know how to keep a man aroused, don’t you?”

 

Jim giggled and began to fuck him properly. For a while the pain lingered, as did the stretch and burn of the skin around his opening, but things didn’t feel as bad as before and Sherlock was able to handle it. Slowly the pain turned to pleasure and Sherlock continued to meet Jim’s thrusts with his own movements. Jim didn’t say a word but from his rising groans the detective deduced that his lover was enjoying himself very much. Then suddenly, without a warning, some part inside him was brushed hard and he shouted with half-surprise, half-pleasure.

 

“What….what was that? I felt like….it felt like a mini…..orgasm?”

 

“Prostate introduced Sherly, that little chestnut shaped thing hidden in there which…..what the fuck, stop collecting data and analyzing things while I have my cock in you,” Jim said in an irritated and strained tone of voice, “Look what you’ve done now, you made me start thinking like you as well, what the hell, just shut up and feel what I’m doing.” He grabbed Sherlock’s hips tighter, likely to leave his fingerprints there, and began to fuck him hard. Every thrust took him slightly deeper inside the man, every pull made him brush the curly haired man’s prostate, and soon both of them began to scale the enormous heights of a truly huge orgasm.

 

It went on for longer than Sherlock thought he could last. Almost ten minutes, maybe more, but Jim was relentless in his efforts at holding back their orgasm. Every time he was on the verge of cumming he would slow down and take deep breaths, every time Sherlock was close to climaxing he let go of the latter’s cock and came to a complete stop. That earned whines and curses from Sherlock, to which Jim responded with snickers and grunts.

 

The room was thick with the scent of their lovemaking, the air filled with the noises of their movements, of flesh slapping against flesh, till Sherlock suddenly screeched out in a rather unmanly voice.

 

“Ji….Jim!!!”

 

“Uh….what?”

 

“It’s going to…..fuck I’m coming.”

 

“Yeaah, cum for me then, cum for me and milk me dry.”

 

Sherlock let go and allowed a hurricane to run through him. He’d never experienced a climax with something lodged in his arse and while his apprehensions had lasted throughout this session, he was able to shed it off as he came. It was explosive, mind-blowing, shattering.

 

“Uhnnnnn,” Jim grunted as he shuddered through his orgasm and Sherlock felt something warm and sticky fill him. It didn’t repulse him but a thought of a shower and a few moments on the toilet did cross his mind.

 

***

 

“Feeling better?” Jim asked as Sherlock joined him in bed.

 

“I felt at my best while we did it,” Sherlock didn’t hesitate to tell the truth, “You haven’t slept?”

 

Sherlock had left Jim in bed to take a shower. Before leaving he had ensured Jim was clean and the sheets were straightened out again. He had no idea why he was doing this but for some reason caring for Jim seemed like a natural thing to do. He didn’t want to question it even though he didn’t understand his reasons for doing this. He had expected to find the mastermind asleep by the time he joined him in bed but clearly his lover was trying to stay awake. Did that mean he actually wanted to fall asleep with Sherlock, together, holding each other? Was that a romantic thing to do?

 

_Shut up Sherlock Holmes, this isn’t a romantic man you were fucked by, this is the evil genius you agreed to work for a year with._

 

For a moment Jim looked shy, hesitant, unsure of his response to that question. It was so unlike him that a feeling of protectiveness washed over Sherlock and he drew Jim closer, looking straight into those sleepy chocolate brown eyes. “What it is?” He asked, stroking back the sweat damp hairs from the pretty Irish face, “Something you want me to do?”

 

“This.”

 

“This what…..oh!”

 

Jim put his head on Sherlock’s chest and closed his eyes. He threw a leg and an arm over Sherlock’s thighs and chest, effectively using him like a pillow and mattress. A slow sigh of satisfaction left the smaller man, the puffs of which Sherlock felt on his chest.

 

A little unsettled by this gesture, feeling a little crowded and pinned down, Sherlock veered between continuing like this all night or pushing Jim off after a few minutes. Jim looked so comfortable so sated, and it pleased the detective to know that he was the reason behind it. “I had expected you to be different in bed, you know,” he whispered, trying not to think too hard, “More forceful and selfish maybe.”

 

“I can be that too,” Jim yawned.

 

“But you weren’t.”

 

“Don’t read between lines. It’s all my moods.”

 

“You took my virginity.”

 

“Yeah, it seems I finally popped your cherry.”

 

“You weren’t brutal.”

 

Jim tensed a little and when he looked up from Sherlock’s chest, his eyes were glowing fire. The corners of his mouth turned downwards and a bit of teeth showed between his parted lips, the beginnings of a disgusted snarl. “That is the problem with angels Sherlock, that is their biggest problem. People have to either white or black. There is no room for grey in your world and that’s why so many of those ordinary, boring, useless people live eighty years on this planet and never understand what truly makes them happy or successful. They are too busy judging, deciphering, pegging, comparing, worshipping, hating to look beyond the realms of small little emotions. Don’t be them.”

 

“I thought I am one of you now.”

 

“Oh there’s still time.”

 

“Don’t you trust me?”

 

“Go to sleep.”

 

“Jim…..”

 

Jim didn’t reply. Minutes later his gentle snoring began and listening to it was like lullaby to Sherlock’s ears. Jim’s weight didn’t seem too bad anymore nor did he feel pinned down by it. A few more minutes passed and Sherlock was snoring as well.

 

***

 

“Anthea…..your real name is Anita, right?”

 

“Anita Myers. Yes, you know that boss. Why?”

 

Mycroft was turning a paperweight round and round in his hands as he sat in deep thought on the couch. At the other end of the plush cabin he sat in was his desk, abandoned since morning, a sheaf of paperwork and a stream of mails awaiting his response, approval or action. In between the desk and Mycroft stood Anthea, his secretary and assistant, patient as always and waiting for her boss to give her the next orders. She was proactively picking out tasks that needed Mycroft’s immediate attention, so he could action them as soon as he decided to start working, when this rather unusual question was posed to her.

 

“Sometimes in our profession we forget who we really are, don’t we?” Mycroft asked after a long moment of silence.

 

“Yes,” Anthea answered without any hesitation, “That is true. We forget birthdays, anniversaries, sometimes we forget we have a life, friends, a home. But that’s something we choose to de-prioritize.”

 

“Have you ever met someone for whom you could give up this? All this?”

 

This time her response was slower, more hesitant, filled with a tiny note of regret. “Yes there was someone once, so long ago that it feels like a different life now,” she answered him, not looking at him though, “His name was Peter and he was half German, half Belgian. Was a student at my college, a year senior to me. We spent two wonderful years together and then he got a great job and I was sure in a year’s time I’d get one too. We wanted to settle down in sunny Portugal together, have three kids and two dogs, go deep sea fishing on Sundays and grow a kitchen garden behind our cottage. For a year he was in Portugal and I was here, but we saw each other every three months. It was all going good until….”

 

“Until?”

 

“He developed a sudden infection while on a trip to Nigeria for work. The strange illness turned out to be the deadly Ebola virus and then…..”

 

Mycroft looked at her. She was not teary eyed. She was not even unsettled. She bore that grief like a warrior sports a scar he got in battle. “After that nobody was able to hold a candle to him and his memories,” she concluded.

 

“Sorry I stoked those memories for you.”

 

“It’s okay sir.”

 

“Can you just line up the most urgent mails and papers for me so I can finish and go home early? I don’t think I am up to doing much work today.”

 

He heard her heels clattering on the floor as she went to his desk to sort out the papers and start his laptop. She was an efficient, dependable, formidable woman. Always easy to rely on. Peter would have been so proud of her. He wished he had someone who could be similarly proud of him. He knew Greg was, but he wanted the validation of someone else. Maybe, just maybe, someday he’d get that.

 

Mycroft went back to playing with the paperweight. He was not sure why Anthea’s story didn’t comfort him. He had assumed that maybe she too had willingly chosen this profession and her ambitions of making it big over the affections she felt for a man. Had she done something like that, he could have felt a little less guilty right now. But her story had a moral conclusion. The lover she adored had died, leaving her heartbroken. In Mycroft’s case the lover hadn’t died.

 

Mycroft had emotionally abandoned him and indirectly pushed him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only the first course of Sheriarty smut. Will there be a MorMorLock? Still some time to go for that ;-)


	11. The strange couple from Norway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wasn’t Jim your enemy? Isn’t it a coincidence you’re working for him now?”

Nikolai Kristiansen and his wife May Britt Kristiansen welcomed Jim and his party to their villa in the North of Oslo, in a sleepy hamlet named Troms. Not more than a thousand people lived there and the couple, in their beautiful three hundred year old castle, lived in relative anonymity and managed to escape any attention from the larger society. Considering the work they did and the dangers it involved, it was the best place and the best way to live.

 

Jim, Sherlock and their aides had been given a villa to live in, not more than five hundred meters from the castle. To Sherlock’s surprise, Jim had assigned a room next door to Sherlock instead of them sharing a room. It disappointed Sherlock but he quickly got over it.

 

He had coveted Jim for a long time but he knew very well that hoping for too much too soon could ruin whatever possibilities were there for them. Jim was like a skittish colt, ready to bolt every single time someone got too close to him or too clingy. Sherlock’s deductive and observation powers had allowed him to get a glimpse into the man behind the mask and this was his first conclusive verdict on the Irishman. But even then he felt he was just skimming the surface. There was so much more to Jim Moriarty than what met the common eye, so many layers to be peeled off. Whether Jim turned out to be an onion or an orange remained to be seen in the future.

 

Sherlock was in no hurry.

 

That night, after an early dinner, Jim came straight into Sherlock’s room. Initially Sherlock thought he had something to say or perhaps wanted to have a chat with him before he went back to his own room and retired for the night but the mastermind took off his jacket and sweater and his shoes and socks. When the sound of Jim’s belt hitting the wooden floor came to the detective’s ears, he knew he wasn’t going to sleep alone that night.

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he picked up a book to read. “What?” Jim asked, warming his hands by the fire.

 

“We could have been in one room.”

 

“My employees don’t need to know.”

 

“They can guess, can’t they?”

 

“There is a difference between guessing what might be and knowing what it is. Give it more time Sherlock and don’t be a petulant child.”

 

Sherlock huffed, “Stop patronizing me. So, are you going to sleep in here tonight?”

 

“Of course I am,” Jim said as if Sherlock had asked him how much was two plus two, “Duh.”

 

Soon they were under the covers and Jim was naked, Sherlock in boxers, feeling Jim rubbing his hard member against his tail bone. The smaller man was acting as the big spoon in bed, his thin arms wrapped around Sherlock’s larger frame. “Horny eh?” Sherlock asked, thrusting his butt backwards and moaning softly when he felt the hard cock rub against his crack. Even through a layer of cloth it felt so good!

 

“Before that,” Jim said, “A test for you. Tell me what you observed about the Kristiansen’s.”

 

Sherlock didn’t even take a moment. He rattled off his findings at his typical zip-zap-zoom pace, holding Jim’s slender wrist in one of his hands and caressing it even without even knowing it. “Nikolai is a vain narcissist besides being an intelligent scientist. He has, in the past, made as many mistakes as he has accumulated achievements. His confidence hasn’t taken a beating and that’s not necessarily a good thing because only fools think they can do no wrong. He has lost friends, sponsors and face. There were photographs in his study which he has removed not too long ago, photographs reflecting his past achievements and felicitations. Along with that, he lost his earlier wife too.”

 

He felt Jim bite his shoulder. It felt arousing.

 

“How did you figure that out Sheeeerly?”

 

“He was fat. His clothes hang like a tent around him. Nobody floats in their own clothes unless they have lost weight rapidly. He has. He has also gone for hair grafting and skin treatment. A man in his mid-fifties who doesn’t have a social life doing all this? Must be the new, younger woman he is now married to.”

 

“Good. What about May Britt?”

 

“More intelligent than she pretends to be. But what we should ask ourselves is this, why is she pretending to be dumber than she is?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

“Has a hidden agenda. Did you see how she held the carving knife at the dinner table?”

“Yes, like a professional killer does. Or at least someone who is trained on hand to hand combat.”

 

“Precisely. Why would someone like that be married to this mad scientist and living this reclusive life where she has no opportunity to showcase her skills or make any money off it? She is not beautiful but fairly attractive and active, in her late thirties and with a life ahead of her. Is she doing this merely for money or does she have a greater agenda? She also speaks several languages, as you must have found out.”

 

“I did, I knew, but how did you?”

 

“Whenever you, Eileen or Anthony spoke other languages, I saw her eyes move and her mouth smile or smirk. She could understand everything. And from what I know, you spoke Gaelic, German and Russian.”

 

Jim made a sound that was close to an orgasmic moan and pulled Sherlock till the latter was lying on his back. He straddled him, eyes glittering, a smile on his face that veered between cunning and excited. “That’s so sexy Sherly, that is so-so-so sexy,” he said lasciviously, grinding his erection over Sherlock’s and eliciting a moan from the taller man, “When you show what’s inside this pretty head of yours,” Jim paused and tapped Sherlock’s temple, “When you figure things out just by observing and analyzing, you give me the best orgasms ever. Braingasm, if I might put it that way. Or shall we call it the prelude to sex, some ‘hot as fiery red chilies kind of sex’. What say, Sherly?”

 

Sherlock was amused. He laughed, which didn’t make Jim happy. “You dare?” His hands lodged around Sherlock’s throat.

 

“Ever tried breath play?” Sherlock asked.

 

His rational side screamed at him immediately, the warning echoing in his head. _Don’t Sherlock, this madman could kill you, or scar you by taking you too close to the brink. You are playing with fire indiscriminately._

 

Sherlock’s adventurous, thrill-seeking side answered his fears the very next moment.

 

 _I would rather wear this scar than not try to play with this fire_. _I’d rather look back and think ‘I am glad I did’ rather than ‘I wish I had’._

 

Jim was looking at him darkly, “Having second thoughts on that request Sherlylocks? Do you think you are up for it?”

 

“Fuck my mouth first,” Sherlock demanded, “Let me taste you. Then try that. But how would you do it?”

 

Jim tilted his head, “How do I what? Fuck your mouth or the breath-play thing?”

 

“I don’t know how to….”

 

“I’ll show you. But I don’t wanna do two rounds tonight. Just the breath-play I think. I’m tired and we have a very long day tomorrow. The virus is going live and we have to monitor every movement, every transaction, every communication.”

 

Trifle disappointed, Sherlock nodded.

 

Jim pulled down his boxers and kissed the cock that sprang up so eagerly that it comically hit the Irishman’s nose. In any other situation Sherlock would have found it funny but all he could do right now was to watch and drool. Having Jim’s mouth so close to his cock was a treat and a torture, a treat because he could fantasize and hope for a blowjob and a torture because he wasn’t going to get anything more than a kiss down there that night.

 

A few seconds later Sherlock was treated to a visual delight of a lifetime and forgot everything else. His lover started opening himself up. He first coated his fingers with lube and, while still straddling Sherlock’s hips, began to prepare himself for intrusion. Sherlock watched, mesmerized, as the first finger went in and Jim began to put on a proper show for him. Mouth open, eyes rolling to the back of his head, legs parted, cock erect and fucking himself on his own finger, he looked like a juicy steak with a tasty relish on top and Sherlock felt like eating him up whole. An animal urge built inside him and he wished it was his own fingers down there instead of Jim’s own.

 

“God,” he moaned.

 

“So religious,” Jim laughed.

 

“Ass,” Sherlock snorted.

 

“Mine? Like it?”

 

“Marvelous.”

 

“You should never praise something you haven’t experienced or owned yet.”

 

Sherlock moaned and that set Jim off, who began to wail with every movement of his hips. He had three fingers inside his own ass by now and, as he twisted his digits inside himself and hit his sweet spot, a drop of pre-cum trickled out of the head of his cock.

 

Sherlock stared at it greedily.

 

“Ohhhh,” Jim threw his head back.

 

“Get on with it,” Sherlock raised his hips and rubbed his cock against Jim’s crack.

 

“Impatient?” Jim grinned, pulling his fingers out.

 

“Hurry up,” Sherlock shuddered, “Or I will come all over your pretty little arse instead of inside it. Your choice.”

 

Jim gripped Sherlock’s dick by the shaft and pushed the thick mushroom head into his opening. The tight ring muscle slowly gave away and Sherlock sank into the incredibly snug heat that was Jim Moriarty, a heartfelt and deep groan leaving his throat.

 

He could hardly breathe! This was a feeling like nothing else. It was definitely the tightest heat he had ever been in. And when Jim began to rise and fall on his erection his eyes scrunched shut tightly and he came with a helpless moan, hips jerking upwards and heat spilling out.

 

Jim gave a triumphant laughter and looked at Sherlock through his jewel eyes, sparkling and glinting with laughter and pride as Sherlock shuddered and shook through his orgasm, constant moans tumbling out of his mouth. It was so sudden and so compelling that he could barely remember how it came about and washed over him like a rogue wave, crashing several ripples of pleasure through his body and nearly blinding him for a few moments. Even in the aftermath he shivered from remembered ecstasy, cock still as hard as before and throbbing in anticipation of more friction. He could easily cum again, despite that explosive first orgasm.

 

“S-Sorry,” he gasped when he was able to speak again.

 

“No, it was intentional,” Jim stroked himself lightly, head thrown back and neck exposed, “You had to be milked first. You were too close to try the other thing.”

 

“Oh so then, are we going to…..”

 

“….Yes!”

 

Over the next fifteen minutes Jim rode Sherlock like a true cowboy, slow and deep, then hard and fast, then gentle and shallow, till he had the taller man wailing, begging and pleading to make him cum. Already close to losing his own controls, Jim finally relented and started riding Sherlock hard, one of his hands lodged around Sherlock’s throat while he did so. Sherlock kept playing with Jim’s nipples and cock but as his orgasm neared and his lungs burned with the need to inhale oxygen, his hands fell limply to his sides.

 

Jim took notice and relaxed the hold a bit. One medium gulp of air and the choking started again, just as Sherlock felt his orgasm almost crash over him. He wanted to draw in air, he felt the lack of oxygen in every limb but at the same time this overwhelming urge to cum lingered.

 

He fought one urge and then the other, finally allowing his orgasm to take priority.

 

It was explosive, huge, wet and lingered for almost twenty seconds. By the middle of it Jim let go of his throat and he wheezed and breathed in, pleasure deepening and spreading to the last inch of his body. His toes curled and he nearly blacked out from the intensity of it all.

 

He recovered just in time to watch Jim cum and that sight alone gave him a near spontaneous third orgasm. Eyes scrunched shut, mouth open, thick spurts of cum spraying out of his cock, Jim in the throes of pleasure was perhaps the most beautiful sight Sherlock had feasted his eyes on. He watched, eyes wide with disbelief, as Jim bucked up wildly and trembled like a leaf in the storm before he collapsed on his chest and stilled.

 

Sherlock wrapped his arms around Jim and stayed quiet for several minutes, not budging an inch from his position. Two questions lingered around in his head. Did he really give Jim such an awesome orgasm? Was this wonderful thing going to last only for a year?

 

***

 

Over the next whole week Jim and Sherlock didn’t get much time together. The virus was launched and had the promised effect on the chosen countries where it had been unleashed. While Sherlock was worried slightly that he’d hear the count of hundreds and eventually thousands when it came to reports of who succumbed to this disease, but was pleased to discover that while hundreds of thousands had been affected across the world, death had happened only to a few dozen.

 

“I don’t kill more people than I strictly have to,” Jim explained one night.

 

On some nights Jim slept in his rooms, on other nights he called Sherlock in there or joined Sherlock in bed. But mostly it was about sleeping. Their days were long and tiring for Jim and he had no energy to fuck before sleeping. Even Sherlock was busy since he had been assigned the task of monitoring numbers and helping with the preparation of the antidote. He was thankful that Jim was at least around and close by, close enough to talk to during the day and touch during the night.

 

But if there was one thing about working with Jim that Sherlock was grateful for, it was the man’s ability to keep everyone on their toes and not give them even a second to get bored. It was a race against time, a fight against deadlines, a contest with perfection. And people had to win, no matter what the cost involved.

 

One day, as Sherlock was testing one of the ‘products’ developed by Nikolai, May Britt joined him in the laboratory.

 

“Hello there,” she called out cheerfully, her ample bosom skillfully showcased in a low cut sweater top that clung to her skin like a sticky ointment.

 

“Mrs. Kristiansen,” Sherlock replied without looking up from his microscope.

 

“You were a consulting detective, were you not? The same one who became famous with the Reichenbach painting case?”

 

“Famous I don’t know. But I did work on that case and save the painting from being stolen.”

 

“Wasn’t Jim your enemy? Isn’t it a coincidence you’re working for him now?”

 

Those words made Sherlock’s heckles rise and he carefully chose not to answer the woman. Instead he kept working on the experiment, acutely aware of her eyes on him as she circled around him like a predator. After a long time she spoke again, this time her voice was covered with cunningness and malice. “Come on Sherlock, I am not recording this conversation. If there is something about this strange alliance that makes it seem less strange, then you can say it. Your secret will stay safe with me. Believe me when I say this, your secret is safe with me now and in the future. I do not lie.”

 

“Sounds like what a liar would say.”

 

“We are on the same side Sherlock.”

 

“Which side are you talking about? The gang you work for?”

 

“What? What did you say?”

 

Sherlock was glad he had rattled her. Giving her a cold look he added, “A woman who claims to be a scientist and yet cannot differentiate between different types of formulas and test tubes. A woman who says she is somebody’s wife but sleeps in another room citing her husband’s snoring problems. A woman who professes love for her country whereas she has, in the past, traded some of Norway’s secrets to save her skin whenever she was caught.”

 

She looked outraged but that expression came and went. She was a woman of tremendous mental agility and capable of high levels of emotional control. She didn’t allow Sherlock any further glimpses into her psyche. Walking very erect, she left without a backward glance.

 

Later, as the money started pouring in from the governments and private organizations keen to protect people from the spreading virus and nip the disease right in the bud, Sherlock kept a strict eye on the cash inflow and was pleasantly surprised to see how good Eileen was at managing it. She not only kept tabs on whatever came in, where it was shifted, who got paid out and how some of the cash was laundered, she was also very capable of making wise investments on behalf of Jim.

 

“Three hundred million,” Jim said that night as Sherlock watched him brush his teeth.

 

“That’s how much you made?” He asked, fiddling with the robe he was wearing.

 

Jim spat toothpaste and looked at his lover, a bit of the white fluoride foam hanging to the corner of his mouth. “Yes, that’s what’s going to be my profits by the end of this week. I was thinking of giving you something, a profit sharing percentage. How about three million?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing against people from the beautiful country of Norway. I personally loved Oslo during my brief trip there. I do not claim to be an expert on Norway, Norwegian towns and culture. This is mostly make-believe, Google search and a few tidbits I learned when I stayed there for three days.


	12. A Startling Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds out Jim had befriended other detectives before

“It was a pleasure doing business with you,” Nikolai Kristiansen shook hands warmly with Jim as they parted ways after a two week stay, “I am richer by fifty million euros and I don’t think I will need to sell this castle or work for someone in this life after all. I have submitted everything you asked me to, to Anthony and Sherlock. They will take it on from here. The virus is destroyed but the process of recreating it and concocting its antidote has been recorded in this diary. I am old fashioned so I wrote it down.”

 

Jim took the diary and instructed his men to do something. When Nikolai raised his brows the mastermind replied, “This is a customary step. My men and women scan your house, your lab and your correspondence and bank accounts and lockers, just so that we are sure you’re clean.”

 

If the aged scientist did mind being searched and scanned so openly and in such detail then he certainly made a heroic attempt not to show it. His smile faltered but his expression did not and he kept chatting pleasantly with Anthony and Eileen while the whole process of ‘debugging’ went on in his casa. Sherlock observed him closely. Something niggled at the back of his mind, something to do with a code he had seen. As Jim scrolled through his mobile and Eileen chatted on with the Norwegian scientist, Sherlock merely watched and applied deductive reasoning to every data point he saw and heard. After almost half an hour of silence he suddenly asked the older man, “Where did you meet your second wife for the first time Nikolai?”

 

Everyone looked at him in amazement. Only Jim looked amused.

 

“Go on Nik,” he said, “My friend and partner is a very curious man.”

 

“Hospital. She was there, visiting a relative while I was there to discharge my wife who had undergone appendectomy.”

 

“Just a fleeting glimpse in the hallway, a casual brush in the elevators?”

 

“No, we spent some time that evening at the hospital cafeteria because she was a big fan of mine and wanted to train with me, work as an assistant. She came here, to my home, the next day and we set up a one month course for her.”

 

“You had an assistant back then but he had an accident and got bedridden with two broken legs for six months. In a week’s time your wife later died from post-surgery infection, right?”

 

“Yes, but I don’t understand…..”

 

“There is no need to. What’s important is that now I understand.”

 

Nikolai looked at Jim, confused. Jim was staring intently at Sherlock but the moment he felt the scientist’s gaze on him he replied dismissively, “As I said, he’s just overtly curious.”

 

***

 

“Jim I need to speak to you.”

 

“Not now Sherly.”

 

“Why don’t you understand, there is an undercurrent here and things are not as rosy as they appear. Why won’t you listen to me?” Sherlock was exasperated by Jim’s casual attitude as the mastermind happily listened to music while he rested on the couch, finger tapping to the rhythm of whatever he was listening to. His eyes were closed and there was a faint smile on his lips. When Sherlock moved closer and opened his mouth to speak again, Jim abruptly sat up and pushed one of the buds of his earphones into Sherlock’s ear and just whispered ‘listen, feel, assimilate, melt’.

 

It was Johann Sebastian Bach. The Baroque notes, sublime and beautiful, played right through Sherlock’s senses and for a moment he was disoriented between music and reality. The haze continued as long as the music continued but the moment it stopped, Sherlock was jumpy again. “Please Jim,” he took off the earphone bud and handed it to his lover, “I need to tell you something. We have to leave now. You made a pile of money, the work is over, there is no need to stay here any longer.”

 

“I know,” Jim replied, yawning, “That’s why I let my men go.”

 

“What?” Sherlock looked around, “They have left?”

 

“Only Aaron is there and Eileen. Rest have left on that mini-ship.”

 

“Butbutbut….”

 

“You like my butt so much, eh?” Jim’s eyes glowed with mischief.

 

Sherlock moaned softly as arousal spiked through him but he managed to take control over his body and allow his mind to function in its own course and pace. “Jimmy, please listen to me, we are taking a rather unnecessary risk here. The scientist’s…..”

 

“Shhhh Sherlylocks,” Jim leaned closer, “Shut up….”

 

“Jim no….”

 

“And kiss me!”

 

Warm, soft, smooth, full lips pressed down on his own and Sherlock felt reason leave his body instantly and an utter need to possess this man take over. In a flash he was over Jim, pinning him down on the couch and mouthing his neck with soft, cooing sounds. The triumphant giggle from the smaller man held him in check for a moment but he knew it was futile to resist this evil temptation. If he were to express it in plain words, Jim might be under him right now but it was he who was pinned under Jim’s impish charm and cunning seduction. Jim had him by the balls, to put it in very blunt words, and he was powerless to extricate himself.

 

“Thank God the room is warm,” he breathed into Jim’s ear and had the satisfaction of feeling the man shudder, “Because all these clothes need to come off. NOW.”

 

Jim purred like a cat ready to eat cream and Sherlock took off his own jacket and Jim’s sweater, before beginning to work on Jim’s belt. Jim didn’t lie passively beneath him either, he raised his hips and rutted against Sherlock, moaning softly as he felt the detective’s hard length bulge through the layers of fabric. Suddenly there was the sound of a zip being pulled and Jim’s hard knuckles touched Sherlock’s member. The detective threw his head back and let out a wanton moan, hips moving against the swift ministrations of those knuckles. He had just thrown Jim’s belt aside when the events changed course.

 

Something crashed through the window pane and landed on the floor next to them.

 

Sherlock gasped, “Tear gas.”

 

“Yeah, so it seems,” Jim drawled.

 

“Fuck we need to get away….”

 

“Nnnnno, you smell so nice Sherly!”

 

“Jim are you out of your mind?”

 

The lights went out next. Sherlock was about to jump up when Jim’s surprisingly strong arms held him in place and the soft lilting voice breathed into his ear, “Relax, nothing is going to happen that we cannot control or stop.”

 

The door opened and a dark figure entered the room.

 

Sherlock reached for his gun and whipped it out but the intruder was already armed and called out to them, “Just sit up and get sober. I have no desire to kill men with their pants down. Have seen enough of them like that to get repelled at the very sight.”

 

 _Shit, fuck_! Sherlock sat up hurriedly, fixing Jim’s trouser button first before pulling up his zipper. He wished he had been more careful and reached for the gun before the other person took the position of advantage.

 

“You are a good voice artist May Britt,” Jim said without a hint of a worry in his voice.

 

“I am not May Britt, though she is here with me,” the man replied in a harsh, caustic tone, “I had expected you to be a sane man Moriarty. No matter how confident you are, you should know when your ass if on fire and a time bomb is ticking around your neck. On your feet, now.”

 

Sherlock tried to cock his gun but Jim gently placed his hand over Sherlock’s and stopped him. S his eyes adjusted to the darkness around him Sherlock saw four more people in the room, including a woman who stood right beside the gun wielding assailant. May Britt, it had to be that bitch! He was right. She was not to be trusted, she had been planning something while everyone else was looking at the tasks at hand. Damn, if only Jim had listened to him!

 

“You know what Moriarty,” the man continued to speak, “I always knew it was you. Isaac Murtagh or Richard James or Jim Brook, you can use any name you want. I’d find you in a heartbeat. I am perhaps your biggest victim, am I not? I was on the right side of law, a chief crime investigator with Interpol, when you breezed into my life and turned me into this…..this thoroughbred criminal bastard who can neither live with the guilts he carries nor die from the shame of it. May Britt works for me and thanks to her I found you. An operation of this scale had to stink of your evil brains and the grotesque plans that come out of it. As it turns out, she was right and I finally have you…..”

 

“No,” Jim was calm.

 

“No to what?” Sherlock mumbled under his breath, “He has the gun and men and we don’t.”

 

“Hush darling William. Adults are talking.”

 

Sherlock gnashed his teeth together and grabbed Jim’s wrist, ready to drag him away if needed.

 

“Let me repeat your boyfriend’s question,” the other man said, “No to what?”

 

“Jürgen Schultz,” Jim sang, “The answer is ‘no’ to your confident statement that ‘you finally have me’. In fact, I have YOU.”

 

Jürgen laughed out loud but at that exact precise moment two things happened. First there was a sound of a body thumping on the floor, then the lights came back on. Sherlock almost laughed at the situation Jürgen had found himself in. The four people guarding him were actually Jim’s men, including Aaron who was clearly leading the charge. The woman’s figure Sherlock had noticed earlier was Eileen, wearing a wig that gave her an appearance similar to the scientists wife/ Jürgen’s agent. Lastly, the body on the floor was a dead May Britt, her throat slit end to end and the blood already dried and clotted. The wound had been cauterized.

 

Jürgen was a tall blond man with a mustache and pale skin and very pale blue eyes. As he took in the sights around him and slowly understood what a precarious position he was in, he grew even paler in complexion while his pupils darkened in rage.

 

“No,” he hissed, “This can’t be, I had planned this…..”

 

“Many have planned death for me and brought about their own destruction,” Jim said coolly, “You are not so special Jürgen, you never were. You were an impediment I removed through careful measures and it was your fault you fell for it.”

 

The blond man’s eyes turned on Sherlock, scrutinizing him from head to toe. He spotted their joined hands and Sherlock’s protective body language towards Jim and made a statement that rattled the normally unflappable detective. “So, you are the latest aren’t you? William eh? He doesn’t care two hoots for you, the day you’re no longer interesting and no longer a threat, he will dump you and go for that fellow he paints portraits of. You stupid fool, well, I am also the stupid fool and this is what fools like us should do…..” Before he could say anything further Jim pointed at the gun Jürgen was still holding and made a gesture.

 

“Go on then,” Jim said, “I’ll make it easy for you.”

 

“See you in hell,” Jürgen growled, stance proud and back erect.

 

“Not yet,” Jim said with a smirk, “Modified dialogue from gladiator, we will meet in hell…..but not yet.”

 

Those words were followed by the unmistakable sound of a skull cracking open and the dull thud of a body falling on the floor. Sherlock stared hard at the open eyes of the now dead man while Jim moved closer to Sherlock and started to caress his cheek, like one pets a small puppy after ignoring it for a long time. “Sorry we couldn’t save Nikolai,” Eileen said as the men started to clean up the bodies, blood and the shards of other items that had broken, “By the time we reached Anne Britt had made short work of him.”

 

“That’s ok,” Jim replied in a totally relaxed voice, “I was going to do that job myself.”

 

“But why?” Sherlock asked, head turning towards Jim with a jerking motion.

 

“How do you think I wipe off all trails after me Sherly?”

 

“But he was on your side.”

 

“He was. But he was also stupid enough to harbor traitors in his close circle. How long before another such traitor takes advantage of him and reaches me?”

 

***

 

Mycroft cleared his throat and stared at the screen which slowly came alive.

 

“Hello colonel Moran.”

 

The man staring back at him from the screen was tall, ripped like a bodybuilder, tanned with daffodil blond hairs that flew wild in the strong sea breeze. He was on the beach, under an umbrella and half lying on a recliner chair. Behind him Mycroft could see sand and palms, other umbrellas and a few abandoned empty cans of beer and a squeezed out bottle of sunscreen in a large trash can. “Hello elder Holmes,” the deep baritone of the former military sniper boomed across Mycroft’s home office, “Why are you bothering me? I am retired.”

 

“Yes you are retired colonel Moran but your beloved James is not, or do you call him kitten,” Mycroft couldn’t hide a certain undercurrent of disgruntlement in his tone. Looks were so important to Jim, was it? Mycroft had always abhorred this aspect of human nature, why would everything hinge on looks and charm? “I didn’t save his arse so he could start his business somewhere else and keep going at it,” he continued his subtle rant, “At that time we had a pact and he was supposed to honor it. As far as I recall, even you were at the meeting and I am sure you remember everything that was spoken during it.”

 

“I was there,” Sebastian Moran replied, “I had a gun pointed at you just as your men had guns pointed at us. Of course I remember.”

 

“That was only during the first few minutes.”

 

“Yeah, but that was a pretty rough start.”

 

“It got better. James promised me…..”

 

“Hold it there. He promised to leave England, you and your brother alone. He has kept his promise.”

 

“He was never supposed to leave me alone.”

 

A rich full-bodied laughter echoed through the speakers of his laptop and Sebastian Moran put on thick sunshades, shielding his eyes from the blazing rays. “Did you call me just to tell me that? Do I not know how keen you were to keep the golden child of crime in your house?”

 

“I just wanted collaboration….”

 

“Of what kind?”

 

“You are misunderstanding this whole thing,” Mycroft retorted, “This conversation isn’t about what I want or think or what you interpret. This is about someone we both care about. This is about James.”

 

Sebastian sat up, “Is he all right? Let me call him.”

 

“No, wait. Don’t. Hear me out first.”

 

“Oo-kaay, sure go on then.”

 

Mycroft let out a long sigh and put his elbows on the edge of his work desk, leaning closer to his laptop screen. “The reason I helped James fake his demise and start a new life, the reason I erased his name from all past cases, the reason why I allowed some of his aides, like yourself, leave the country safely, was not because I couldn’t handle the conflict with him but because I wanted it to be a win-win for all. My brother would be safe from Jim, you would be safe from my team, James would start off legitimate businesses with his vast wealth and if required, he would assist me with some international cases and incidents. That was the agreement.”

 

“Yes, so?”

 

“He is always incommunicado. He is still investing in criminal activities. And I am not sure Sherlock is safe from him anymore.”

 

“Sherlock? How? I am pretty sure Jimmy doesn’t bother him. Sherlock doesn’t even know….”

 

“Sherlock is a very sharp man, you have to agree to that. If James still commits crimes then my brother will sniff him out through them. Recently a virus was detected in some countries and miraculously that was squashed and eradicated overnight due to an intervention from a Norwegian scientist and an obscure pharmaceutical company. If this does not have James Moriarty written all over it then I don’t know what else does.”

 

Sebastian seemed unsure of his answer. “Look, he doesn’t answer to me….”

 

“Sebastian, Sherlock is missing.”

 

“WHAT?!?” For the first time since they had started the conversation did Sebastian seem taken aback and unprepared. He took off his branded shades and revealed eyes which were wide with bewilderment. “Say that again Holmes?”

 

“Sherlock has been missing for nearly a month now. Actually twenty three days.”

 

“Oh….and you think?”

 

“I have a feeling he has gone chasing after Moriarty. He was also a bit obsessed with James like James was obsessed with him. If they meet, they might end up killing each other for real.”

 

“No,” Seb’s tone was tough, uncompromising, “I won’t let Jim walk into a Holmes trap again.”

 

Mycroft smiled. He had expected this. Now Sebastian would bring Sherlock safely back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Mycroft know Jim is alive? Or is he guessing? Let's just say he is playing it by the ear! But Seb unwittingly confirmed it!


	13. A little Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jim wind down after the Norway job but the detective has doomsday feelings about his future with the consulting criminal.

“Sherrrrly.”

 

“Fuck off Jim.”

 

With a crushing thump, Jim landed on top of Sherlock and squashed his entire breath out of him. Sherlock let out a pained groan and tried to throw Jim off but the smaller man started to wrestle with him on the bed, causing Sherlock to eventually give in and draw him into his arms. Jim giggled like a child but Sherlock heard the undertones in that giggle and remembered Jim from the night before. Sometimes a smiling Jim was more dangerous than an angry Jim, he was sure of that. Jürgen had found that out the hard way, losing his battle with the mastermind and having to shoot his own brains out to avoid a far more torturous death.

 

“Is that going to be me in a few years?” The words spilled out of his mouth.

 

“Mmmm….you smell nice…..are you up for…..what? What did you say?”

 

“Nothing. Just don’t move. It’s nice to hold you like this.”

 

“No, you repeat that. What did you say?”

 

Jim was looking up at Sherlock, eyes dark and scanning the detective’s face for any lies he could detect. Sherlock felt cornered even though he was the one holding Jim in his arms while the Irishman lay atop him. “I mean it Sherly,” Jim’s voice had a tone of warning in it, “You were all frigid and inaccessible last night and now, first thing in the morning, you make a comment like that. You thought I’d ignore it?”

 

“No. I didn’t think you would. But I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

 

“Oh no, you thought by saying that you’d make me happy, is it?”

 

“Let it go Jimmy.”

 

“No, I won’t. What did you mean?”

 

With a sigh Sherlock sat up, adjusting some pillows so he could be propped against the headboard. He kept Jim close, practically on his lap, and was relieved to note that the criminal made no attempts to get away from him. But Jim’s romantic mood was lost and his face registered both annoyance and suspicion. Clearing this throat Sherlock decided to cut to the chase, “Am I Jürgen Schultz II?”

 

Jim scowled.

 

“C’mon,” Sherlock said, “You have to give me a bit more credit than that. If I can look at a man’s house and read his complete life history, then I should definitely be able to interpret an open statement made by someone right under my nose. He is like me, isn’t it? Just blonde and not brunette. Tall, aquiline features, sharp, brave, works for the law, tangled with you over cases and suddenly you brought him over to the dark side.”

 

Jim shrugged, “So?”

 

“So is that what you do to all those who happen to be your nemesis?” Sherlock was shocked that he was bubbling with jealousy and insecurity inside and fought hard not to let it show in his tone, “First you identify them, then you stalk them and bait them, thereafter you get into a game with them, then you find a way to seduce them to cross over to the dark side? Tell me James, did you sleep with him too? I mean, I saw the way the man looked at you. There was anger but no hatred. His words were harsh but his tone belied that harshness, he was like a spurned lover who hated to see his replacement standing right there. That replacement was me, wasn’t it? Isn’t it?”

 

Jim was silent.

 

“You plan to kill me too. You had said it before, that someday you will. I am okay with that.”

 

“Oh so what are you now?” Jim snapped, “A fucking martyr in love?”

 

At that Sherlock fell silent. Was he in love with Jim? Was this love? He had no idea.

 

“You know what,” Jim got off from Sherlock’s lap and walked towards the bathroom, “The last thing I wanted when I recruited you was to take on a nagging wife. If I really wanted this life I would have married Sebastian and settled down in the suburbs of Sydney with him.”

 

That was a stinging slap on Sherlock’s face and he stared in dismay as Jim went into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

 

***

 

Sherlock had never thought the definition of hell in heaven could be something like this. He was in Switzerland, a small village named Engelberg. It was an idyllic life in a spacious chalet which was quaint and old-fashioned outside and luxurious and high-tech inside.

 

The surroundings were picturesque and the air crisp and fresh. He had a chef at his beck and call, a chauffeur at his beck and call, all the books he wanted, internet access, a huge collection of movies and music, a horse to ride in case he wanted to go out, a mountain bike as well.

 

But he had no doubts that the chef and chauffeur could shoot him in case he tried to escape. Behind their calm and friendly exteriors, their ever obedience to Sherlock’s commands and their benign manners, he could easily notice the fiery disposition and natural cruelty of seasoned criminals. Not that Sherlock needed to be guarded or there was even the slightest possibilities of him contemplating an escape. He was there of his own volition, he was a willing party to this life. There was no way he’d walk away from it until and unless Jim wanted him to.

 

Or when Jim no longer wanted him anymore.

 

The idea of dying with a bullet hole between his eyes was not a very welcoming one but Sherlock was not so disturbed by it as he was by the possibility of Jim losing interest in him. He was also disturbed by how unsettled he was with the way Jim had deposited him in that Swiss chalet three days ago and disappeared without a word about his whereabouts or the date of his return. Sherlock had spent enough and more time honing his art of deduction and more or less figured out everything about everyone in the village, yet when it came to Jim he found the man unreadable as the contents inside an opaque box.

 

He stood on the first-floor balcony, harking out into the distance and watching the mountains there. They were capped by snow and the golden rays of the fast fading sunlight. The air was getting colder and Sherlock had not even donned a jacket or jumper. A sudden shiver made his teeth chatter and he rushed into the bedroom, only to knock hard against something solid and split his lower lip open.

 

“Fuck you Sherl.”

 

“For the last time, don’t sneak up on me.”

 

“You bit my forehead.”

 

“No, no no no, I didn’t bite your forehead. I was merely getting into the room and your head was in the way.”

 

Jim huffed, pushing Sherlock with both hands, “Now go get the first aid box and clean this up. It hurts.”

 

Sherlock saw his prominent tooth marks on a corner of Jim’s brow and the line of blood visible through the split upper layer of the skin. Sobering up, he nodded and went into the bathroom. By the time he emerged with the medical kit, Jim was sitting crossed legged on the bed.

 

“So,” Sherlock also got an ice cube from the mini-fridge in the corner of the room, “Where had you been off to?”

 

“Geneva.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Medical conference. Just wanted to ensure the top scientists of the world weren’t getting anywhere closer to unraveling the truth about the virus Nikolai had created. Rest assured, they have not. Not even close.”

 

Sherlock iced his lower lip while he cleaned Jim’s cut, then iced that too. Jim leaned into him slightly but the detective backed off. “What?” Jim looked at him, all pouty and cute, “You still mad at me?”

 

 _I can’t be, not for too long, damn you!_ “You have a way with your cuteness overload, don’t you?” The Englishman asked as he gently applied some soothing ointment to Jim’s minor injury and then absentmindedly carded his hand through the man’s soft hairs, “You think you can do anything you want and then get away with it by acting cute or doing some sort of seductive act. Well, it doesn’t always work. We had an argument, you walked off leaving it inconclusive, then we fly to Switzerland separately and while I cool my heels here you go off to Geneva without telling me a word about it. Yeah, I guess I am a bit mad.”

 

“Do you realize Sherl,” Jim lay down on the bed and stretched, enjoying the fact that it brought Sherlock’s eyes back on him, “You resent me for doing things to you that you repeatedly did to others back in London?”

 

Sherlock looked away to hide that ‘fuck, I am caught’ look.

 

“Listen,” Jim said softly, using his best bedroom voice which immediately went to Sherlock’s cock, “Why waste time arguing and talking about each other’s vices when we both know what we signed up for? Come one, come here, it’s been a while isn’t it?”

 

***

 

“Ohhhh fuccck Sherrlooockkk!”

 

“You want it harder?”

 

Jim nodded, panting from lust and need and Sherlock grabbed his ankles and pulled his legs higher up in the air. He first held them together before he parted them wide, sliding deeper into the smaller man while he resumed his thrusts. Jim’s eyes widened and then glazed over with lust, loud wails emerging from him as Sherlock’s thick rod drilled deeper and harder into him. Semen was already drying on the skin of his belly, thanks to the instantaneous orgasm he had the moment Sherlock had entered him, and from the looks of it he was about to paint himself with more seed.

 

“Why?” Sherlock rasped, feeling his cum build.

 

“Why what?” Jim asked in a strained voice, struggling to focus. His hands came up to pull Sherlock close and the taller man obliged, lying atop of him and assuming a missionary position.

 

“Why do you keep pushing me away and then pulling me back into your orbit again?”

 

“I….uhhh….oh-oh-oh right there, yessss, I….don’t want you to fall in love….mmm with me.”

 

The words struck Sherlock like a thunderbolt. Falling love? He hadn’t been in love before, he was sure of that, and naturally he wasn’t even sure if this thing he felt for Jim was love or not. He wanted to analyze this further but his brain was turning into mush. The heat of Jim’s arse and the soft needy moans from his lips were pushing him towards a shattering climax and Sherlock was unable to stop it. He sped up, the sounds of flesh slapping flesh so loud it was like someone clapping slowly but hard. He didn’t realize when he had started to groan with every thrust and Jim’s thighs clung to his hips, drawing him in even further till he felt even his balls would disappear inside his lover.

 

“J-Jim!”

 

“I’m cumming Sherlock!”

 

“M-Me too!”

 

“Fuck so tight.”

 

“So big and hard!”

 

“Oh fuck,” Sherlock buried his face in Jim’s neck, “Oh fuck!”

 

He exploded the next moment, the world splitting apart in his vision and then blurring into a hazy mess, and a split second later Jim bowed his back and hot semen splashed between their bodies. One shot went straight to Jim’s cheek and the mastermind shuddered so hard that Sherlock thought he was going into a seizure. He kept rocking inside his lover and cumming hard, bliss settling into his body in place of the burning need that had finally been taken care of.

 

Slowly Jim relaxed and Sherlock felt his arms give away and his entire weight drop on the smaller man. A small squeak of discomfort left Jim but he soon settled into that position, arms wrapping around his tall lover while his legs dropped limply back on the mattress.

 

“Mmmmm, that was nice,” Jim murmured, breaking the silence.

 

“Jimmy?”

 

“Hmmmm?”

 

“You think I am in love with you?”

 

“You’re just needy Sherlock. When there is no big brother, no Johnny boi, no Mrs. Hudson to coddle you, I become their replacement.”

 

Sherlock didn’t answer. How could he when he hadn’t yet answered himself?

 

Now with the bodily needs taken care of, his emotions surfaced full force and he felt a strange connection to this man who lay underneath him. Without a second thought he somehow got off from Jim’s body and then extended an arm towards him, hoping he moved closer. Jim did, but he turned to the other side, using Sherlock’s arm as a pillow and his naked back pressed against Sherlock’s torso. After a few seconds Sherlock also rolled over and spooned him, burying his nose in Jim’s soft hairs. They smelled of honey and citrus and clean scalp and the detective playfully grabbed some tufts of hair between his lips and pulled. “Tired,” Jim yawned, “Don’t wake me for dinner.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Tell Jean-Luc to feed the birds. Don’t forget.”

 

“Won’t.”

 

“Tell Gauthier that we won’t need him tomorrow so he can go to Interlaken for the job I had given him three days ago.”

 

“All right.”

“Don’t forget.”

 

“Oh damn….shut up and sleep you annoying creature.”

 

Jim gave a sleepy laugh and dropped off to slumber in three seconds flat. When his breathing evened out and his body went completely slack in Sherlock’s arms, Sherlock gently raised his head and looked at the sleeping criminal. Fucked out, gorgeous in afterglow, a livewire presence even in repose. In the idyllic surroundings of the chalet, it was hard to imagine someone like him being happy and content for too long. Jim would need action soon and that action would involve some crime or the other.

 

Sherlock realized he looked forward to that crime. He had no idea whether that was because he wanted to stick close to Jim or because he had begun to enjoy this new life but yes, he couldn’t wait to see what Jim’s next plans were.

 

Minutes passed and Jim began to snore very softly. Only then did Sherlock whisper softly into his dark, soft hairs. “You’re nobody’s replacement Jim. You are you, you have a unique place in my life and my heart.”

 

***

 

“I beat you, I beat you, hehehehe, I told you I will.”

 

Jim jumped up and down like a child who had just won the fifty meters sprint on sports day over a bigger and faster boy. Sherlock scowled at him at first but somehow the sight of uninhibited joy on Jim’s face made him forget his own defeat.

 

He was a competitive man and hated losing, even in a board game. If Mycroft or his mummy or daddy ever beat him at any such game he would toss the whole thing aside and throw a fit. When he grew older he would cheat. Right now he felt the tables were turned and the activities reversed. It was Jim who had cheated this time. They were riding up the hills and Jim had challenged him to take a particularly narrow trail and ride right up to the top of the cliff. Sherlock was winning till Jim, who was trailing him, whistled in a peculiar manner. Suddenly Sherlock’s horse had slowed down and Jim had beaten him in a photo-finish sort of manner.

 

“You learned how to whistle the way his trainer does,” Sherlock accused as he dismounted his equine, “That made the poor beast slow down. You’re such a…..”

 

“Cunt?” Jim waggled his brows and jumped off his mare.

 

“Crude,” Sherlock stretched his arms over his head, “You can be so crude. Soldier’s tongue.”

 

“Admit it,” Jim jogged ahead and stood under an apple tree, “You want to curse and be crude too. You wish to be me in every possible way. You have cheated in the past and you’d cheat again, given half a chance. Honorable fights are only good in text books.”

 

He posed under a branch, “Take my pic.”

 

Which Sherlock did. Then Jim ran up to him and half climbed on him, placing his chin on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Selfie,” he ordered. Sherlock clicked a few before Jim was satisfied with one. “Send me this one, I like it,” he exclaimed.

 

“Jim, it’s been three weeks here,” Sherlock said eventually, “When is the next job?”

 

“Oh darling baby boy,” Jim breathed in the fresh mountain air deeply and let out a noisy exhale, “This is not a consulting detective’s job. This is proper organized crime, which I can easily pass off as business. Legit business. Anyways, there can’t be a job for us every few days, or every week for that matter. There are tasks waiting to be done but I have my aides for that, we don’t need to get our hands dirty. Only the big ones will do and for that we have to wait. Now stop ogling my butt and let’s take a walk.”

 

Sherlock blushed, peeled his eyes off Jim’s shapely bottom and fell into step with the consulting criminal.


	14. Nighmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A consulting criminal and a consulting detective travel, take up jobs and have sex (and that is all for this chapter)!!!

“No, let me go, no!”

 

Sherlock jumped up, his instincts instantly on self-defense mode. He looked around. Why was he blindfolded.

 

A groan and a yelp came from the spot next to him and he blinked hard, realizing that there was no blindfold on. The room was just pitch dark and Jim, still asleep, was thrashing about and mumbling and moaning in his sleep. The pillows had been tossed to the floor, the covers were kicked down and a shiver ran through Sherlock’s body. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Sherlock managed to find the switch to the bedside lamp and flick it on. “Christ,” he gently shook Jim who seemed to be deep into the grasp of a terrible nightmare, “Jimmy wake up, it’s only a dream, owwww, stop trying to hit me, I am Sherlock. Wake up, open your eyes, wake up, uffff WAKE UP!!!”

 

Jim opened his eyes.

 

The next words that came out of his mouth would haunt Sherlock forever.

 

“I never promised you anything Mike.”

 

Sherlock froze. A past relationship then! Something abusive? Coercive? But who would do such a thing to Jim Moriarty. Jim was invincible, indomitable, inimitable. Somehow Sherlock couldn’t place him in the same slot as ordinary human beings. If something or someone impeded Jim’s path he would simply remove it. So was that what happened to this Mike? Did Jim just decimate him like he had done to Jürgen.

 

“Sherl.”

 

Jim’s eyes were open and clear now but his chest rose and fell at a fast, irregular rate. He was awake now but the remnants of his nightmare were still present. Carefully, cautiously, Sherlock placed his palm on Jim’s forehead and pushed the hairs back from his face. “Yeah?”

 

“Why are you awake?”

 

“Um….”

 

“Never mind, you don’t have to answer that. What was I saying?”

 

Sherlock was tempted to tell him but he wanted to find out who this Mike was. Asking Jim directly would never merit a proper answer. He would have to use roundabout ways. If he was just like Jim, then he had to master the art of getting answers out of someone who wasn’t willing to share any information with him.

 

“I don’t remember,” Sherlock lay back down and turned out the light. Immediately Jim tensed in his arms. “What?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Water, I am thirsty.”

 

Nightmares and their subsequent side effects usually had that effect on people, it was a proven fact. Sherlock nodded and switched the light back on again. He watched Jim reach out for the bottle kept on his side of the bed and drink from it. Once he was done, Sherlock turned out the light once more but within seconds Jim was shifting about restlessly again. With a sigh Sherlock turned on the light and sat up. He was about to ask his lover what was wrong when Jim suddenly grabbed a second bottle, thrusting it into Sherlock’s hands. Wide eyed, Sherlock stared at him in astonishment while Jim, shrugging slightly, mumbled “Even you should be drinking water. In fact we both should be drinking more water.”

 

Sherlock took a few gulps and looked keenly at Jim who was fidgeting with his hands, clasping and unclasping them, cracking his knuckles, burying them under the covers and then taking them out the very next moment. After a few seconds of silence the detective asked, “Do you want me to leave the light on?”

 

Jim scowled.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“I am not a child who can’t sleep in the dark.”

 

“Never said you are. As for being a child, you are one in many different ways but scared-as-a-child you are not.”

 

A temporary look of relief crossed Jim’s face but his guard was up again soon. “Okay, you can turn it off after I fall asleep.”

 

“Gotcha,” Sherlock lay back down.

 

At first Jim kept a foot’s gap between them but soon the distance began to lessen as he shifted closer and closer. Finally Sherlock smiled, eyes still closed, and pulled Jim closer so the man’s face was tucked into Sherlock’s long neck. Small fists clutched at his sleep shirt and Jim mumbled something close to a ‘thanks’ before he finally settled down to sleep. Sherlock looked at the bedside lamp but reaching for it meant disturbing Jim in his shallow sleep.

 

He left it on and fell asleep despite the dimmed brightness.

 

***

 

A week later Jim finally got a ‘job’ that was serious enough, complex enough, big enough for him to dip his hands into. Though Sherlock liked it there, the isolation and beauty of the place, Jim’s company and their hot sex, not a care in the world and not a soul to disturb them, he was beginning to get a bit rusty from the lack of action. “Pack your bags,” JIm said to Sherlock after finishing a phone call one evening, “We leave early morning tomorrow in my private jet.”

 

“A case…..I mean a job, is it?” Sherlock asked, eager.

 

“Actually it is a case, a case like the ones you usually take up, and in this I might really need your help,” Jim answered with surprising openness and clarity, both of which was perpetually lacking in his communications earlier, “We will be going to Mauritius, to Port Louis to be precise. There is an oil magnate, worth over five billion dollars, who thinks he is about to get murdered by someone in his family and wants me to protect him. So, in effect, this is a case for Sherlock Holmes.” He saw Sherlock’s eyes shine and held up a hand, “There is a catch though. Once we find who was conspiring, who intended to murder my client, he wants that threat removed. That is a job for Jim Moriarty and not Sherlock Holmes. Are we clear on that?”

 

Though taken aback, Sherlock didn’t let his enthusiasm slip. “I admit, getting rid of people isn’t what I do as a detective but what makes you think I can’t do that part?”

 

Jim just raised an eyebrow, “You can?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“You are not a killer, not yet. You are not yet me.”

 

“I may not be you but I am still Sherlock. I have killed. You know that.”

 

“Yes, but only those who are outright evil.”

 

Jim laughed, a derisive dismissive laughter, “You couldn’t kill me.”

 

That shut Sherlock up. He opened his mouth a couple of times but couldn’t find the appropriate words to say. Jim kept looking at him curiously for a while before he said the next word. “Don’t beat yourself up over this Sherlock. It takes a while for people on the side of angels to become proper demons. Angels and demons, have you seen that movie?”

 

“You’re digressing,” Sherlock said in a tight voice.

 

“Yes I am because we need to close this discussion now. Tomorrow we fly to Mauritius. We will stay at a private villa my client has organized for us and will have only the bare minimum support staff around us. By the way, you will meet one of your old pals there.”

 

“Irene?”

 

“Irene.”

 

Sherlock looked blank. Jim waggled his eyebrows and said in a camp voice, “Dominatrix! Master blackmailer and seductress. A woman with unparalleled intelligence. Not beautiful but exceedingly attractive! The woman! That’s what you call her don’t you? The one you saved in Karachi and got a riding crop and a dildo stuck into you. Later you admitted you are still a virgin there, which means it didn’t go down a long way, did it?”

 

Sherlock leaned back in his chair. “I was attracted to that intelligence Jim. I am a sapiosexual, you have probably figured that out by now. I also like to experiment, I like being surprised, I am open to exploring new territories in every possible way. That’s why I accepted her ‘payment’ for saving her life. She used to text me several times a day once upon a time, later that dwindled down to once or twice a week because I wouldn’t reply. She is someone I’d like to see alive and doing her own thing in some part of the world, not dead and lying in a morgue. But that’s where it all ends.”

 

“What do you mean ‘that’s where it all ends’? What ends?”

 

“My feelings for her.”

 

“So you admit you have feelings.”

 

“Jim,” Sherlock’s eyes were wide, “Jealous?”

 

Jim’s eyes flashed fire, “Don’t ever say things you don’t understand Sherly. You might be great at the science of deduction or at reading signals and seeing right through people through your powers of observation. I will admit you’re brave too, in a foolhardy sort of way. You can think out of the box and solve mysteries like nobody else can. But that doesn’t make you wise when it comes to relationships, understanding people who are equal or more intelligent than you. For example, you don’t even know your own brother properly.”

 

It was Sherlock’s turn to be angry, “Mycroft? Who says I don’t?”

 

Jim gave him a cold look, “You don’t.”

 

***

 

“So,” Jim stretched out on the reclining chair next to Sherlock, feet bare and clad in loose ankle length pants and a printed Hawaiian shirt, “What do you think?”

 

Sherlock looked at him, exasperated, “You introduced me as your employee, not as an advisor or a partner or even a friend. Then this name you gave me, you introduced me as Thaddeus. What sort of a weird name is that?”

 

Jim looked at the vast sea in front of them and chuckled hard, “Oh come on Sherlylocks. If I had called you a partner or an advisor they’d notice you too much and be wary of you. I made you look insignificant so people are wary of me and only me. You can quietly do your work without too many people meticulously hiding clues from you. And if I introduced you as a friend my client would interpret that as ‘boyfriend’. I am at work here, got it?”

 

“How does it matter to them if you have brought a boyfriend or not?” Sherlock argued, “As long as your work is done properly your personal life is none of his business. Hey, about the name, why Thaddeus?”

 

Jim snickered this time, “Since you have the most unique name in this world I thought you’d appreciate another name that’s just as…..weird. I mean nobody in the right frame of mind would name their son Thaddeus today but I am sure your family would. Look at the names, Sherlock, Mycroft, Eurus. I remember talking to your sister and she jokingly told me that if she hadn’t displayed signs of insanity as a child, she would have still been committed to an institution simply because she was named Eurus.” With that Jim broke into laughter, causing Sherlock to frown and scowl.

 

“Hey,” he added, “It’s just a joke.”

 

Sherlock turned his face away.

 

“Look at you, pouting like a kid.”

 

“Hmmmfff.”

 

“So, which one do you suspect.”

 

Sherlock was still annoyed by the jokes Jim had made about his name but he relented slightly at that question and looked straight into Jim’s amused eyes, “What do you think Mr. Moriarty? You have a criminal’s mind, you should have identified the man or woman at the very first glance. Also, you keep saying you are me and I am you. So, if you are me, which ones do you think I am going to start investigating right away?”

 

“I think you started investigating the adopted daughter and the distant cousin.”

 

“Why do you think so?”

 

“The daughter, Ivana, seems fond of the high life and is worried she won’t get much of a cut from her foster father’s fortunes. She is also a gambler and a spendthrift. Despite the money she has she had been once accused of shoplifting.”

 

“Good, why the cousin Jules?”

 

“He is in debts, huge debts. He can’t wait.”

 

“And the wait is long. Daniel isn’t going to die anytime soon. He is seventy but going strong.”

 

Jim waited for a few moments and said, “This job gives us five million upfront Sherlock but there is a hidden payment in here that’s unimaginably huge. It’s critical that you solve it so I can get to that hidden payment. By now you would have realized that these small amounts of a few million are of no importance to me whatsoever. The web I have built feeds itself well and the profits are rolling, they keep building on the base we created. This means millions get added every month to my account without me doing anything more than lift a finger and type the words ‘Hey abc, this is what you need to execute’.

 

That didn’t surprise Sherlock but he didn’t explicitly ask Jim what that hidden payment was. He was expected to deduce it. Jim would be disappointed if he were to be told everything in plain language. He wouldn’t disappoint Jim in any way.

 

He felt his eyes move to Jim’s butt again as the mastermind lay down on his front and grabbed Sherlock’s cocktail drink.

 

“Don’t,” Jim warned as he took a sip.

 

“I’ll look at whatever is being displayed,” Sherlock retorted.

 

“Oh my!”

 

“You have a problem with that?”

 

“I have no problems with you ogling my butt. However, if that’s what you stop at then I do have a serious problem.” With that Jim rolled to his front and Sherlock found himself salivating at the huge bulge that showed through Jim’s loose pants. He was fully erect down there. The more he watched it, the more it twitched under those clothes, and Jim grew bolder and bolder till he slid his hand underneath the waistband and grabbed it.

 

Sherlock gasped, “Jim!!!”

 

Jim snorted, “Prude!”

 

“Come inside now.”

 

“Why not here?”

 

“Here? Everyone can see us here.”

 

“Really?” Jim looked here and there, “Where is everyone? It is a private beach and nobody comes here unless my men allow them to.”

 

Sherlock felt his own erection start to throb inside his shorts and he panted with lust, “What do you want me to do?”

 

Jim pushed his pants down, freeing his erection. He gasped aloud as the sea-breeze hit his heated flesh and the leaping cock slapped against his belly as the brunette pushed his shirt up to expose more skin. Sherlock was next to Jim before he had even realized he had moved from his recliner and Jim smirked at him. “It doesn’t matter what I want you to do to me Sherlylocks, what’s important is what you want to do to me. You said you like being experimental, you’re open to exploring things, you wanna try new things. How about something in the open, outdoor sex with a danger of being caught, adds to the thrill no?”

 

Sherlock watched the obscenely hot scene before him and soon a different Sherlock took over. He heard himself speak the next words, as if he was hearing a recorded voice. He wasn’t even sure he was speaking but it was his voice, the deep baritone getting hoarse with arousal, which rasped out the next statement. “I want to suck you. I want to suck your bloody brains out through your cock Jimmy.”

 

“Good,” Jim lifted his hips, “What are you waiting for?”

 

Sherlock lunged downwards, mouth wide open, and grabbed Jim’s hips to keep him steady. Then he swallowed the erection from root to tip and let his ample saliva trickle down the shaft, enabling him to move his lips smoothly along its length.

 

“Fuck Sherly,” Jim groaned, thrusting up despite Sherlock’s strong hands holding him down.

 

Sherlock grinned around his mouthful. It was a different kind of ‘high’ for him, seeing his normally unflappable nemesis turned lover get so engulfed by arousal that his body began to react before his mind did. He started bobbing his head up and down, sucking hard.

 

“Uhhhh,” Jim was struggling to keep his guard up, to keep his body under control. Sherlock could feel that struggle inside the man but it was a battle Jim was losing as he continued to blow him like an expert. Soon Jim’s groans rose louder and louder, then came a sharp cry.

 

Sherlock grabbed his own trapped erection inside his pants and began to jerk off.

 

It took only a few seconds. The moment Sherlock groaned around his mouthful and creamed his pants, Jim shrieked out his orgasm and flooded his lover’s mouth with his taste. This time Sherlock was prepared for this and didn’t find the taste unfamiliar. Instead he savored it.

 

When he finally recovered from the haze of his afterglow and looked up at Jim, the criminal smiled lazily and said, “So, how does my brain taste?”


	15. The temptress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock realizes how brainy flirting can be a real turn on and how mind games can be the best foreplay

“Mr. Daniel Wolff,” Jim announced the moment Sherlock and he entered the plush room where the billionaire was seated, “As I told you, Mr. Moriarty chose us to represent him. My emp….I mean my colleague Thaddeus has unraveled the mystery of your attempted murders and zeroed down on the target. He has proof and he will present it before you now. However, you must not forget the promises you made to Mr. Moriarty. You will give Thaddeus a cheque of five million and me the right to visit your art room and take a look at the contents. We would like to buy one of them.”

 

Daniel Wolff nodded, “Only when the work is done. How do we know the person you identify is the actual conspirer?”

 

“They will confess,” Sherlock said confidently, “That proof good enough?” His body language was of cocky confidence and Daniel Wolff seemed pretty pleased with that. He got up and poured three whiskies for them and handed a glass each to Jim and Sherlock, then took his spot on the couch at the corner of the room. Sherlock didn’t drink and neither did Jim, who was looking at the two of them keenly, waiting for the conclusion. Sherlock had refused to tell him how he was going to do this and he had agreed immediately, because it possibly enhanced his excitement and thrill.

 

“Call your wife and your cousin Jules.”

 

“You mean my ex-wife Martha….”

 

“No, your present wife Melinda.”

 

“But Melinda is not my….”

 

“Mr. Wolff, if you want me to help you then please be honest with me. Have you married her recently or not?”

 

“No, I have no further plans to marry. I might not be on good terms with Martha but she is the mother of my three children and everything I own belong to them. Of course, even my adopted daughter will get something. But Melinda is aware that I will neither marry her, nor will she be carrying my babies.”

 

Sherlock showed him a document. The old man put on his reading glasses and croaked, “Oh my God, what is this?”

 

“This is called deception,” Sherlock said with his usual candor, “Your cousin set you up completely. It was meticulous planning. First, he put Melinda in your path. Then, he got your signature on this document, probably while you were distracted and then had your girlfriend sign it later. I figured that out because the signatures here are made with two different pens. This marriage certificate is real but no marriage took place. I also found out from the office where this was registered that Melinda went alone to submit it. Jules on the other hand staged various attempts to take your life but he didn’t miss by chance, he missed on purpose. That poison in your milk which your cat drank by mistake, the brake failure of your car, the sudden broken bannister which almost caused you to fall from the balcony, those were planned ‘attempts’ designed to fail.”

 

Sherlock saw Jim grinning slightly. Somehow, his heart gladdened. Jim was proud of him. He also missed John that day. That was exactly how John used to look at him when he rattled off his deductions or solved a case at lightning speed. He made a mental note to call John soon but for now he had to focus. The case wasn’t over yet.

 

“You might ask me Mr. Wolff,” he continued, looking at the oil magnate who was staring at him in wide eyed disbelief, “Why is it that Miss Ivana Wolff was always around whenever your life was threatened. The answer is, that too was part of the plan. To implicate Ivana. What everyone noticed was who was nearby, what nobody bothered to look at is who wasn’t? People who kill or organize a murder don’t stay on the scene or close to it. Jules fooled them all but not me, I understood that he was trying to stay so far away from the scene that nobody would ever suspect him. At the end that’s what gave him away.”

 

“If I may ask,” Daniel said in a broken voice, “Why? My death wouldn’t make Jules any richer.”

 

“Not him, but Melinda would be.”

 

“How? I didn’t really…..”

 

“Your will. I read it. It was drafted years ago and has some ambiguous terms and conditions. Like it says this, my lawfully wedded spouse or any spouses who are married to me or who were married to me in the past, would inherit 30% of my estate. That’s like 1.5 billion.”

 

“Ivana?”

 

“Yeah, she is greedy, she needs money, but she isn’t cunning, cruel or courageous enough to plot and scheme or arrange a murder. By the way, the final and successful attempt on your life was to be made today. Your medicines have been changed with something else.”

 

Daniel Wolff stood up, shaking with rage. “That is preposterous. I want both of them removed.”

 

“Removed?” Jim asked innocently, “They can be jailed.”

 

“And get out in a few years?” Daniel thundered, sounding disgusted, “Those two treacherous creatures need to be removed asap.”

 

“I’ll gladly do that job for you,” Jim said cheerfully as if he had just agreed for a walk in the park.

 

***

 

“Guess what Jimmy,” Sherlock was walking down the beach hand in hand with Jim, enjoying the sunset, the feel of sand under his feet and the salty breeze of the ocean on his face, “I know what’s that valuable ‘hidden payment’ you extracted from the old geezer.”

 

Jim squashed a sand crab under his flip flop and asked, “Hmmm, do you? I won’t believe you until you tell me everything in detail.”

 

“Wolff is a collector of art and not a connoisseur,” Sherlock gripped Jim’s hand tighter and pulled him away from a bunch of crabs he was trying to stamp on, “He is more like that arrogant showoff businessman who keeps things at home to impress others and not because he values them. So, he has no idea that some of the paintings and sculptures he chooses to keep in obscure corners or store rooms are actually far more pricey than his proudly displayed pieces. In fact there was one priceless painting from the late Renaissance era, which he had kept inside a broom cupboard. It had not been restored so it was shabby, but that is worth at least fifty million dollars.”

 

“Seventy,” Jim cackled with laughter, “I have a buyer ready. But I intend to keep that painting as a tradeoff item for the future. It will be restored though.”

 

“Poor Wolff thinks you took the painting because you liked the solid silver frame.”

 

“An idiot he is!”

 

“No doubt. You also took a bust of Venus. Rather plain, cracked and chipped. It was due to be tossed away. But it’s not what’s on the outside but what’s on the inside that interested you, am I correct?”

 

Jim stopped and took his hand back. Instantly Sherlock felt a sense of loss and he grabbed Jim’s hand again. “What happened? Did I say something to offend you? Why are you suddenly so resentful of me touching you?”

 

Jim looked at him in alarm, “Sherlock, how do you come up with such nonsense? Seriously, for someone so clever you could be really immature at times. If I take my right hand back from your grasp it’s because I need it to dig out something from my right pocket. Where does all this ‘resentful’ and ‘offended’ shit come from? I have been noticing this for a while now, stop being so insecure all the time.”

 

Before Sherlock could react Jim had produced a scroll from his right pocket and placed it in Sherlock’s palm. “Read it,” the criminal insisted, “Instead of being so boring do something useful for a change. Tell me what this scroll means and how valuable it might be.”

 

Sherlock forced himself to focus on the old scroll, holding it gingerly so he didn’t end up damaging the rather ancient item. He looked at the figures on it and his eyes lit up. “This looks like hieroglyphics but it’s not. This is ancient Chinese proto-literate writing system. But it is not the original written form of communication from 1200 BC because that would have been on stone or a limestone tablet. This is a copy that’s possibly the closest surviving cousin of the original scripts. Mix of symbols and cuneiform.”

 

Jim thumped him on the back, “So right!”

 

Sherlock nodded, suppressing the big grin that almost came to his face. He didn’t want to look too pleased or too eager to please. “This is a first century BC scroll recovered from a Chinese excavation site. There were five such scrolls but records show only three survived. One was stolen by someone nobody could identity while the second was nicked by a museum curator who had sent a coded message to the buyer that he had it inside this bust. But the buyer got greedy and tried to steal it and get rid of the curator rather than have a witness to his crime. Total mess it became eventually and the bust was lost, the buyer had to flee, the curator was jailed and Jim Moriarty got whiff of this scroll’s existence.”

 

Sherlock looked sharply at him, “You organized this case with Daniel Wolff.”

 

Jim nodded in dramatic fashion, “There! You got it.”

 

“It’s Ivana who kept tipping you off.”

 

“Uh-huh. More?”

 

“Melinda and Jules were trying to kill Wolff but Wolff would have never known unless Ivana made special efforts to make it seem like it’s her. Then another insider you have on Wolff’s team gave Jim Moriarty’s name.”

 

Jim smiled, “Sherlock got a case. Jim got his scroll. He also got a painting. Money came in too.”

 

“Master manipulator,” Sherlock said, “What a magnificent bastard you are!”

 

“You’re getting pretty close,” Jim winked.

 

“So now what?”

 

“Mmmm Sherly, now that the work is done and everyone’s happy, time for me to indulge myself in a few hobbies. I want to learn more about scrolls and their value, I want to teach a bunch of Nasa scientists online because there is this particular project they are doing that interests me Lots. And I want to get an overview of it, by brain washing them into sharing it with me. I also want to restore the painting we got from Wolff and last but not the least, I want to try all the Kama Sutra positions with you.”

 

The last sentence was particularly flattering but Sherlock had one sentence stuck to his mind. “Why would Nasa scientists take lessons from you online?”

 

“They’re not taking lessons from Moriarty,” Jim responded, “They will be taught by Derek Capriati. Yeah, the famous retired scientist. Nobody knows yet that he passed away peacefully in a Tibetan monastery a few months ago. Before that knowledge becomes public, I intend to make full use of anonymity on the net to procure this information. Such tidbits always come in handy in the future.”

 

Sherlock suddenly broke his stride and stopped right in front of Jim who, unprepared for this moment, collided chest to chest with the taller man. “Hello down there,” Sherlock cupped Jim’s chin and looked down at him fondly, “It’s strange how things change when you switch sides. Earlier your evil and nefarious schemes used to annoy me, scare me, challenge me to up my game. Now that I see it from a different angle, it just seems like the work of genius to me. This fucking scroll is worth what….how any hundreds of millions…..or it could be a huge bargaining chip….Jim, I am not just awed by this plan and the perfect execution but also flattered that somehow I helped it happen.”

 

“Bastard,” it was Jim’s turn to look down. He was smirking.

 

“Why am I a bastard now?” Sherlock snorted.

 

“You are hard.”

 

“Yeah, somehow it turned me on.”

 

“Now you know why I was so attracted to you. Every single time you solved a case I felt orgasmic. I was angry because you came in my way but I was also turned on and…..whoa, put me down, what the fuck Sherly, someone will see it and what the fuck would they think about me? I am not your wife, I am not a girl, put me down you emotional bloody fool!”

 

Sherlock jogged down the rest of the way to their beachside villa, Jim hanging over his shoulder and his head hanging halfway down the detective’s back.

 

“You are a strange creature,” Sherlock said, “Outdoor sex is fine with you but being carried over my shoulder is embarrassing?”

 

“We have different definitions of embarrassment. Put me dowwwwwnnn!”

 

“No I won’t,” Sherlock sang.

 

“Or else I will…..”

 

“No you won’t.”

 

“Stop mimicking me you asshole.”

 

Sherlock laughed out loud as he rushed into their villa and headed straight for the bedroom they shared. En route a couple of Jim’s henchmen came into view but they were so well trained they didn’t even bat an eyelid. A streak of jealousy flared inside Sherlock and he wondered if they were so dismissive because they were disciplined or whether that was because Jim was like this with other before. A common occurrence, therefore no surprise or shock element for the people who worked for him. That moment passed quickly though because Jim clawed at his lower back and growled in frustration.

 

“I said put me down.”

 

“Here you go.”

“Oufffff!”

 

Sherlock had thrown him on the bed. Jim bounced on it and almost sat up but was flattened like a pancake when Sherlock climbed on top of him and began to kiss him. Jim returned the kiss passionately while his hands made short work of Sherlock’s clothes. They breathed hard when they parted for a few moments, then went back to their frenzied kissing again. Sherlock had his hand down Jim’s pants and Jim had Sherlock’s upper torso completely exposed when the sound of someone clearing their throat loudly made them freeze.

 

Sherlock was caught like a deer in the headlights when he saw that familiar face.

 

Jim let out a shrill whistle.

 

“Oh come on,” the female voice said, “Either put a do not disturb sign on the door or just lock the damned thing.”

 

“Irene fuck off,” Jim snorted.

 

“You called me,” Irene replied coolly.

 

Jim produced a gun from nowhere and aimed it at her face, “Leave.”

 

She sat down on a couch instead and grinned at then. With her immaculate coiffed hairdo, perfect makeup, high heels and clothes that reflected a high end fashion statement, she was the quintessential seductress and temptress who could sway fortunes and fates with one stroke of her riding crop. Sherlock found himself moving away from Jim but he didn’t realize he still was holding Jim’s prick in his right hand.

 

“I don’t want that Sherlock, it’s yours, let it go,” she said, looking at Jim’s groin and smirking.

 

Sherlock tried to remove his hand but Jim surprisingly grabbed it and kept it there. “We just need ten minutes, that’s all,” Jim commanded, “Now leave this room or else I will turn you into the latest designer handbag I saw at the airport.”

 

Sherlock wasn’t sure he was in the mood anymore. While he didn’t have any sexual attraction towards Irene, her sudden appearance had its impact on him and he wanted to process that information first. Sex had to wait for later. “Boss I would love to leave and spend the evening on my own,” she said softly, her voice showing clearly that she both respected and feared Jim’s power and cruelty, “I do have a few customers here. But I think it’s very important that you know a few things. I am not sure how it’s between you and Mr. Sherlock Holmes here so should I speak in front of him or wait for him to leave instead?”

 

This sparked off Sherlock’s temper. “I am going nowhere,” he snapped.

 

“Wow,” she said, “He has a temper.”

“Everyone does,” Jim defended him, “Besides, if we had to speak alone we both should leave. This is his bedroom too.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Didn’t understand the oh.”

 

“Well I was thinking about the last few years I have sort of know him. I used to text him, send him pictures, videos, ask him out, in fact I tried everything I could to melt the iceberg. He didn’t respond, except for that one time, and yet here he is today, in your bedroom and putty in your hands. What is it that I am missing?”

 

Jim sat up, finally letting go of Sherlock’s hand, “Nothing that you should know. Now, what is that urgent news you wanted to share?”

 

“Gaston Mortimer Beric, the primary candidate for the Prime Minister’s chair in Canada, turned out to be as devoted to his wife as a kid is devoted to his favorite fairytale. Tried tooth and nail but the man simply won’t relent. We can’t bait him that way. We need to try something out of the box this time. The general elections are only six months later, anything we do needs to be quick and effective.”

 

“Hmmmm,” Jim tapped his chin, “You’re losing your charm.”

 

“No. Some people are devoted.”

 

“Everyone is tempted by something, or someone. You just have to find out what sways him!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No m/f/m threesome. Just putting it on records!


	16. The colonel in the closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We always thought alike,” Sherlock said, “We were identical yet different. Right now that difference is sort of dwindling.”

“He has no chinks in his armor,” Irene insisted.

 

“So what do you want me to do?” Jim looked offended, “Give up on this. Do this myself?”

 

Sherlock suddenly spoke up, surprising both parties in the room. “Gaston Mortimer Beric. Age, forty years, meteoric rise, a handsome and educated man who is an accomplished lawyer and a talented musician. Popular with the masses, the new face and hope of a nation, backed by powerful allies and shielded by a picture-perfect family man image. Usually such men are myths but this man is real, he is no myth. So, since myths and reality have a huge difference between them, one can safely assume this politician has created this ‘picture’ to help his cause. You want a chink in his armor, please shatter this image and he will crumble.”

 

Jim looked interested. Irene simply shrugged, “That’s why I was supposed to seduce him and then blackmail him.”

 

“Everyone can’t be targeted sexually,” Sherlock said, “Some need to be tackled with other things.”

 

“I think Jim stands a greater chance of seducing him,” Irene said dismissively, “Or Sebastian.”

 

Jim’s mood changed suddenly and inexplicably. From sunny and curious it went decidedly dark and his warning to Irene came out in a rather ominous tone, “Sebby will not get involved in anything illegitimate again. You understand that Adler? The last person who tried to drag him back is now six feet under and I suggest you forget his name, delete it from your memory, unless you wish to join the earlier fool.”

 

That bothered Sherlock a great deal. Something about Jim’s tone suggested that this ‘Sebby’ was precious to him. In fact, Sebastian was a topic hardly discussed. Jim never mentioned his former deputy, not even with Sherlock or his other close aides. All he knew about that man was that he was Jim’s former lieutenant and an ex-army colonel and sniper. There were many legends about him, one of them being that he could shoot a coin tossed in the air from a hundred feet away with a 160-miles-per-hour gale blowing.

 

Irene looked contrite, “My apologies boss.”

 

“So Sherlock you were saying…..”

 

“Jim, how about someone seducing his wife?”

 

“How would that help?”

 

“Scandal. He would be wary of a scandal. You just want him by the balls, don’t you?”

 

Jim grinned evilly, “Not in the literal sense.”

 

Sherlock perked up, “Then see if someone can seduce his wife and lay down the foundation of a possible scandal. If she can’t be seduced sexually, then do that in some other way. Let me study her profile and I can tell you within minutes what could be her weakness.”

 

Irene whipped out her famous phone and pushed it literally under Sherlock’s nose. On the screen was a photograph of the handsome Gaston Beric with his pretty, elegantly dressed wife June and their three cute as button kids. There were also two Husky dogs in the picture and a well-attired nanny stood in the background. The phot was taken in the front lawns of the family home and from the looks of it, the family was quite wealthy. A few more seconds of observing the finer points and Sherlock handed the phone back to Irene. The woman cunningly grabbed Sherlock’s hand for a moment before she grabbed the phone and took it back. If Jim noticed that moment he gave no indications of his reaction.

 

“I remember her now,” Sherlock stated confidently, “She and Beric were college sweethearts and she was a far better student and more popular than her boyfriend who used to be shy and nervous of public speaking those days. Also, it was her family that had the money and Beric used those resources in plenty when he was initially building his political career. Soon she got relegated to the background and as his popularity and success soared she was mostly just the wife. But she can’t be too happy about it.”

 

“Aaand?” Jim sounded impatient.

 

“Look at how she stands,” Sherlock pointed, “Trying to take centerstage. One of her hands is on her husband’s back, as if she is trying to show she is the support. Though her husband is looking at the kids as the pic was clicked, she stared straight into the camera. She wants the limelight.”

 

“Gotcha,” Jim said, “Bait and trap, get her netted and her darling husband will follow automatically.”

 

“Is there marriage strong?” Sherlock asked Irene. It was weird talking to her in these circumstances. The last time they met, he was the good guy and knight in shining armor. Right now he was one of them and clearly Jim’s plaything as well. He wondered what she thought about him and his changed situation.

 

“Very,” came the response.

 

“Spread the net then. What does she usually work on?”

 

“Art and charity.”

 

Sherlock gave Jim a knowing grin. “You sexy bastard,” Jim exclaimed, “You really have it in you!”

 

Irene clapped at the exchange, the look on her face one of genuine appraisal. “You impressed the boss in just seven weeks,” she was glib in her assessment, “I am sure not more than one or two shared assignments so far between the two of you. That’s really commendable Sherlock. Some of us have worked for him for years, successfully carried out scores of projects and never got such a pat on the back. What have you been feeding him every night?”

 

“Proteins,” Jim said nonchalantly, “Stay in your panties Adler.”

 

***

 

Sherlock accepted the glass from Irene and stared out at the night skies and night sea, both inky black at that point aside from the soft twinkle of stars above the surf at the crest of the waves below. He was lying on a hammock, preparing for the next steps to be taken for their new ‘job’. After dinner, Jim had gotten busy planning the ‘Canadian job’ and Irene, after participating in the initial discussions, had been asked to step out for the rest. She sat on a chair next to the hammock and sipped from her glass, eyes on Sherlock all the time. “As I see it,” she broke the silence between them after almost five minutes, “He has changed you quite a bit.”

 

“Changed me?” Sherlock said, “How?”

 

“I remember a man in 221B Baker Street who said ‘I am not hungry’ when I asked him out for dinner,” Irene went on in a completely unemotional voice, tapping a well-manicured finger on the rim of the glass, “I remember a man who wouldn’t drink socially or even agree for a sit-down dinner because he was happy to live in his own world of thoughts and deductions. I recollect this person who was asexual, whose thrills came from the cases he solved. I seem to know someone who was in denial of his feelings when it came to John Watson and to some extent, even towards me.”

 

“And how do you see me as a changed person now?”

 

“You really want me to spell that out?”

 

“If you don’t mind.”

 

“I obviously see the sexual attraction between you and Jim. I always knew he had a thing for you, I didn’t realize you reciprocated it so vociferously. I saw you two together, you were totally into each other. I’ll just put this Sherlock, the one who obviously likes a drink now and doesn’t mind having proper dinner with Jim and his associates, aside and concentrate on the way he looks at the boss. Tell me Sherlock, how long have you been in love with him?”

 

Sherlock sneered, “I like sex with him. Yes, that’s my true calling, just as you had told me at both London and Karachi. I like cock.”

 

“No, this is not just about getting cock. This is about getting more than that, it’s about feelings.”

 

“You wish.”

 

She tossed her now open locks back and pushed a few strands away from her face, squinting in the strong sea breeze. “You may read into people with your X-ray vision Sherlock, you might strip them bare and down to their bones by rattling off whatever you deduce about them, but when it comes to understanding emotions any average woman of slightly above average intelligence can outscore you. If that were not the case, how come someone as insightful as you is so very blind to his own needs. You are in love with Jim, you have made him a way of life, you’re so into him that you’ve even started thinking like him.”

 

“We always thought alike,” Sherlock said, “We were identical yet different. Right now that difference is sort of dwindling.”

 

“And is that something you’re willing to allow?”

 

“You think I shouldn’t?”

 

“Now even you’re answering questions with questions.”

 

Sherlock made a dismissive gesture, “I have some good memories from those days. Please don’t let them fade into a vortex of jealousy over Jim.”

 

“I am not jealous of you,” she looked rather startled with his statement, “Whatever made you feel that way? Yes, Jim and I have had sex in the past but that’s where it remains, firmly in the past. He isn’t much into women either.”

 

“So then,” Sherlock looked at her, “You’re jealous of Jim?”

 

“Nah! Why envy something that’s inevitable and over which you have no control,” she said candidly, her right leg jiggling slightly, “It was something just waiting to happen. I hadn’t expected it to happen so soon though. The changes I see in you are quite big, perhaps you were always like this and waiting for someone to unearth you from that heap of moral superiority you had surrounded yourself by. Mycroft, John, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, all of them are such goody two shoes folks.”

 

“Mycroft isn’t.”

 

“Oh yes, my bad. He isn’t. If he was, Jim would have never allowed him to….”

 

She stopped as abruptly as Sherlock sat up. She smiled slightly, as if satisfied that he was finally rattled. “I suppose you don’t know then,” she added, draining her glass and then standing up, “I think I’ll go for a refill.”

 

“Irene,” Sherlock called out, “Remember one thing. People don’t change. They are merely revealed.”

 

“One day,” she said without stopping or looking back, “Jim will be revealed as well.”

 

***

 

“Oh yeah-yeah-yeah, just ride my cock like that,” Jim said huskily between a slew of curses and moans, “Make me cum inside that right little butt pussy of yours. Ride me like the sexy bitch that you are!” He was impatient to cum, the muscles around his groin and pelvis were beginning to spasm and he thrust up the moment Sherlock stilled on top of him. Sherlock stared at him lustily for a moment before he bent down to kiss Jim’s right nipple. “Ride me and cum all over me you slut and then fuck me like you’re drilling a hole in the wall,” Jim continued the dirty talk that was beginning to drive Sherlock mad with want, “I want that big hard monster inside me, all of it.”

 

“Yeah,” Sherlock threw his head back and began jerking himself while his hips whipped back and forth, “Yeaaaah!”

 

A spray of semen soon landed on Jim’s belly and chest and Jim let out a loud moan and began to thrust up into his lover. Sherlock sat on his knees, allowing Jim the movement, his face orgasmic and eyes glazed over with afterglow. His entire brain was focused on this moment’s pleasure and fulfilment. He had been hard for hours and during dinner Jim had leaned in and told him the same thing, that he was very erect and couldn’t get it down. That confession was so hot that the detective had nearly creamed his pants but obviously they couldn’t just drag each other to the bedroom in the presence of some of Jim’s senor lieutenants.

 

The wait had been worth every moment though as the brilliant charge of their frenzied coupling had nearly set the sheets on fire. Sherlock could feel sparks flying between them.

 

“Sherrrrlockkkk!”

 

Jim came with a scream of his name and Sherlock’s just spent cock jumped up in attention.

 

“How do you do this to me?” He asked a panting Jim.

 

Jim didn’t even seem to hear him. He just moaned and reversed their positions, their connection snapping and making them both groan out mildly in dismay. But that dismay was short lived as Jim lay on his side and Sherlock spooned him, the tip of his erection nudging Jim’s well-prepared hole. “Get in,” Jim lifted one leg to give his lover all the access that was needed, “Just get in and fuck me into silence.”

 

“I’d rather that you don’t stay quiet,” Sherlock moved inside Jim in one smooth thrust.

 

“Aaaaaaah,” Jim cried out at the top of his voice.

 

“Yes baby,” Sherlock kissed Jim’s ear and began to pound into him, “Be as loud as you want.”

 

***

 

Sherlock didn’t remember falling asleep but he was sure he had slept within a second of cumming for the second time. A few hours later, he woke up with a start when he heard sounds in the closet. He had always been a light sleeper, unless he was in one of those ‘passed out’ slumbers after staying awake for nearly two or three days straight. Intensely aware of surroundings, any change in them, any sounds or movements, he never allowed himself to sleep through a possible intrusion or attack. Earlier he was responsible just for his own life but of late he felt partly responsible for Jim’s safety too. If that man had trusted him to share his bed, Sherlock felt he owed Jim something in return.

 

He grabbed his gun and got out of the bed, stopping briefly as Jim muttered something in his sleep and rolled over to lie on his back. “I’ll be back, stay safe here,” Sherlock whispered and kissed the slightly open mouth.

 

Cocking the gun and holding a flash light, he lithely moved towards the closet. As he came closer, he saw a shadow moving inside there. It was a fairly large walk-in closet and perfectly capable of hiding a full-grown man or two. But no, Sherlock was not going to allow that. Whoever was in there was going to get a nasty surprise and if they dared attack Jim Sherlock was not going to hesitate to shoot a few rounds. He moved closer and closer, having the ability to keep his movements completely soundless, and sprang inside one fine moment.

 

He saw an exceptionally tall man in front of him, tall and broad shouldered, almost like a wall blocking him completely. Before he knew it, that fellow and he were engaged in a standoff with each man pointing their gun between the other’s eyes.

 

“What the fuck is this,” the other man suddenly withdrew his weapon and pushed Sherlock away, “He really got you!”

 

Realization dawned on Sherlock and he said, “Colonel Sebastian Moran.”

 

“The one and only,” Sebastian coolly began to rummage amongst Jim’s belongings.

 

Sherlock stared at him for a few indecisive moments before he asked, “What do you think you are doing in Jim’s closet?”

 

“Sherlock Holmes,” Sebastian didn’t even turn, he just kept up his search till he grabbed something with an ‘ah’ sound of gladness, “Whatever belongs to Jim-Jim belongs to me too. If you’re sleeping with him you must have known that by now.”

 

Sherlock stared at Sebastian’s back as the tall blond man began to shuck off his clothes without a shred of hesitation. It was as if he was totally immune to Sherlock’s presence. After a while, when Sebastian was down to just his tight white briefs, Sherlock couldn’t look on anymore and turned away from the man. “Fair enough, you guys were close and shared everything,” he fought to keep the obvious jealousy out of his voice, “But what I am asking is why are you here suddenly at the middle of the night? Is he aware? Did he call you for some special mission?”

 

He heard rustling of clothes and a muted curse from the blond man as something was dropped to the ground. Without looking, he picked it up. It was a tiny Chinese gun with a weird little appendage attached to it.

 

“It’s a two-in-one,” Sebastian took the strange looking weapon back from him and Sherlock felt the man’s eyes on his back. He held his ground and kept looking away until Sebastian had covered his modesty at least. “Can be used as a gun as well as a button to trigger off explosions, remote movement of objects or surveillance,” the former chief of staff went on, “As they say, the Chinese can manufacture anything and everything. But I am testing it out, so we don’t end up in a sticky pickle later with a malfunctioning device at a critical juncture. Oh and yeah, since you asked lemme inform you that he doesn’t know I am here. In fact, he would be pretty upset to see me here but this is an emergency and I had to see him face to face.”

 

“You chose a fine time to drop in,” Sherlock heard the rustling stop and turned around.

 

Sebastian laughed, “This is part and parcel of this trade. Timings are not always steady, routine or conventional. By the way, why is it ok for me to watch you standing in the nude but not ok for you to look at me whilst I am changing?”

 

Half of Sherlock’s blood ran to his feet and the other half rushed to his cheeks. How the fuck did he overlook this? He was butt naked. “I….ehm…..” he froze there, unsure of what to do and cursing himself mentally for this idiocy.

 

Sebastian looked down at Sherlock’s cock, “You’re well-endowed and you got nothing that I don’t have or haven’t seen before. Here, I know there is a robe over here that you can use.”

 

Sherlock gratefully accepted the robe and draped it around himself. Suddenly large hands pushed his hands off and tied the sash around his waist, fastening it properly. “There,” Sebastian said in a low rumbling baritone, “I’ll head to my room now. Or if you’re ok I’ll sleep on that love seat. Actually, let me sleep on the love-seat.”

 

Sherlock was dismayed. This room was his and Jim’s. Why would Sebastian sleep in here?

 

He got back in bed, eyes on the blond man who curled up nicely and pulled a spare blanket over his body. “Wake me if I oversleep,” Sebastian said with a suppressed yawn, “Or at least wake me before he wakes up. I don’t want to open my eyes with a knife pointed at my throat.”


	17. Mycroft's Everlasting Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene assures Sherlock but is it enough

Sherlock had tossed and turned for a few hours before finally falling back to sleep. Sebastian’s sudden arrival had filled him with jealousy and his presence in the room had filled him with annoyance and unease. While the man seemed to be non-threatening towards him, Sherlock was aware of the closeness he shared with Jim and resented Sebastian for that. Heck, he had stated resenting Irene as well, ever since he had learned that the woman had slept with Jim in the past.

 

When he woke up, he thought he was somewhere outside. He could hear noise, shouts, sounds of things falling and people moving around. He raised his head, a little dazed, and gasped when he saw the scene at the other end of the room.

 

Jim was throwing things at Sebastian who hid behind a couch and used a large tea tray as a shield. The room was entirely trashed and several broken shards lay on the floor. There were marks on the wall, of spilled substances and dents made by heavy flying objects, a curtain was pulled down and a table was broken. Sebastian was profusely apologizing in several languages while a slew of curses and yells and some swearing in Gaelic came out of Jim’s mouth. Sherlock tried to sit up but had to duck back down as an ash tray narrowly missed him and fell on the other side of the bed.

 

“Jimmy….” Sherlock called out.

 

“You stay out of this,” Jim growled, “I will kill him today.”

 

“You can’t babe,” Sebastian laughed. Then he addressed Sherlock in a somber voice, “You did this on purpose didn’t you?”

 

Sherlock got out of bed and reached Jim on three’s and fours, “What do you mean?”

 

“I told you to wake me up before….”

 

“He knows? HE KNOWS?” Jim howled, “Who else knows but I don’t?”

 

“My little darling…..”

 

“Don’t you fucking dare tiger.”

 

Sherlock was confused and foolishly said, “Tiger? Who is tiger now?”

 

Sebastian emerged from behind the couch and caught a flying vase merely inches from his face. “You haven’t drugged him or something have you?” He asked Jim in a tone that suggested extreme familiarity, trust and rapport, “He seems much slower than those videos we watched.”

 

Jim looked caught between a desire to smash Sebastian’s head, asking Sherlock to shut up and explaining the whole situation to the two men who were staring curiously at him. After a full minute’s silence, he eventually decided to go for the third category. He decided to bring both Sebastian and Sherlock on the same page.

 

“Sherlock doesn’t know about you and he doesn’t need to,” the criminal said in a snooty tone, one which Sherlock recognized as his ‘practiced dismissiveness’ whenever he wasn’t sure of an answer, “Therefore he has no idea I call you tiger. And Sherly, I had released Sebby from all bonds, contracts, relationships, commitments and promises. He was supposed to stay as far away from me as possible, especially while I am working. I had fixed two visits a year for him, about three weeks in July and two weeks in December. Only at Singapore, under our new identities.”

 

“Yet here I am,” Sebastian took over and stealthily moved towards Jim so he could prevent more flying missiles at himself, “Defying orders, risking identification and discovery, disobeying the man who is my boss, whose word is gospel truth for me. Look here Jimmy, I am here for a reason and that couldn’t wait till you were back in Singapore. I have no idea what this detective is doing here with you but that’s causing more than enough trouble back in London. The only reason I went against your orders and flew down here is because the Iceman called me and told me that Sherlock has gone off chasing after you over the virus attack case.”

 

“God,” Sherlock did a facepalm.

 

Jim looked astounded for a moment before his mouth twisted in displeasure, “Did Mycroft send a big bag of pampers for Sherlylocks?”

 

“Jim!!!” Sherlock colored beetroot red.

 

“You are thirty fucking four Sherl. Why does he need to keep an eye on your constantly?”

 

“The same reasons Sebastian, aka Tiger, keeps an eye on you.”

 

Jim startled while Sebastian, after a brief moment of shock, chuckled hard. “He is good,” he said with evident appreciation in his tone, “He figured out something even you hadn’t noticed yet.”

 

Jim connected the dots in mere seconds and the next moment he was riding piggyback on Sebastian and literally tearing his hair and flesh out. Sherlock watched, petrified to some extent by Jim’s wild anger and bewildered at how Sebastian laughed merrily through it even as red welts appeared on his neck. Sebastian lurched across the room, Jim hitting and biting and scratching him in anger, till they landed on the bed.

 

“Owwww you horrid big brute,” Jim kicked at Sebastian who had sneakily ensured that Jim was beneath him when they fell. The criminal mastermind was almost pulped by his weight and breathing hard after the oxygen had been squashed out of his lungs.

 

Feeling strangely left out and isolated as the two men focused on each other, envy and abandonment raised their ugly horns in Sherlock’s heart. The sleuth slowly approached the bed but kept his distance from the two men who were wrestling on it. He chose to sit on the side, the other side, so neither Sebastian’s long legs nor any of Jim’s limbs would touch him.

 

“You have been keeping me under surveillance, you bastard, you son of a bitch…..who told you to do this?” Jim was purple with rage.

 

Sebastian held him down with some difficulty before he answered. “Nobody has asked me to do this, just as nobody had asked you to give up England just so I could be safe and start a new life. We have known each other for years Jim-Jim and naturally we will have each other’s back. You took a few steps, even if those hurt you and dismayed you, just so I would begin afresh and be safe somewhere. Why? Because you were looking out for my wellbeing! Why should that rule not apply to me? How can you expect me to enjoy Pina coladas on the beach when I know you are somewhere far off, too far off for me to just rush in and save you…..”

 

“I have been treated for that Moran.”

 

“What if you forget your meds?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

“Don’t be dismissive.”

 

“Look, the poor detective is trying to figure out which of the two of us is crazier and more confusing?” Jim suddenly laughed and, much to Sherlock’s dismay, drew Sebastian’s head down on his chest. Sebastian giggled like a nine-year-old and lay down on top of Jim, much to Sherlock absolute chagrin and indignance. The body language between the two men had changed to something relaxed, easy and affectionate and Sherlock saw red when the two men once again lapsed into speaking in Gaelic.

 

“English please,” he said curtly.

 

“Oh Sherly, just two more minutes,” Jim said without even batting an eyelid, “We are talking about you after all.”

 

“What….I….talking about me?”

 

“Yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah!”

 

“Then why not in English?”

 

“Because,” Jim looked at him through a rather piqued expression, “I do not think you need to know about this, at least not yet.”

 

Sherlock bit his tongue so he wouldn’t have to reply to that. His skin curled and his blood boiled but he held his tongue. _Gather more data Sherlock, understand every possible angle first, don’t react blindly just yet._

 

“If the Iceman gets in touch with you again,” Jim switched to English after some more dialogue in Gaelic with Sebastian, “Tell him that his baby brother is not chasing after me or trying to solve any case related to me. None of my assignment have any proofs whatsoever about my involvement in them and even if the Iceman wishes to dig details out, the trail will just go cold. If he can’t do it, neither can his kid brother so ask him not to overestimate Sherlock Holmes and maybe look for him in some Tibetan monastery or a drug den in South Africa. He would have more success finding him there.”

 

Sherlock jumped, “What do you mean?”

 

“Oh come on,” Jim replied, “You want me to tell him the truth?”

 

“But this is not the truth either.”

 

“I am sure it isn’t. But lying isn’t the biggest sin I have committed.”

 

“I am not talking about sins Jimmy….”

 

Sebastian interrupted, “He calls you Jimmy?”

 

“Just like you call him Jim-Jim,” Sherlock shot back.

 

For the first time Sebastian showed a hint of anger and suddenly he seemed even taller, even more petrifying. He put his hands on his hips as he stood up, glowering at Sherlock. “I have known him for seven years. I have worked with him, lived with him, killed for him and taken bullets for him. I have offered myself as a bargaining chip for him so he can get out of trouble or stay invisible. And I haven’t done those things just so I can have a different kind of adventure or get between his legs. I did all that because I value him more than I value anyone else in the world, myself included.”

 

Sherlock stood up too, feeling puny next to the behemoth sized Sebastian. But he wasn’t going to just let this go, no matter how many palpitations went on inside his chest.

 

“Clearly you didn’t do enough,” Sherlock said curtly, intending to put Sebastian down and hurt him if possible, “If you had, you’d be in my place today.”

 

Sebastian looked dumbfounded and even though he opened and closed his mouth a few times no words would come out. Jim however regained his speech after an initial moment of shock and a deep-set frown appeared on his face. “Sherlock,” he said in a voice that was deathly calm and left no room for a ‘no’, “Can you please give Sebastian and me a few hours to ourselves. I’ll speak to you later, at an appropriate time.”

 

Frustrated at the way he had been dismissed and embarrassed at how he had allowed himself to be trapped in this tense moment Sherlock simply replied ‘But of course, Jim’. He turned and walked out of the room without a second look.

 

***

 

The next twenty-four hours was a torture for Sherlock. Jim and Sebastian stayed cooped up in the room and didn’t emerge for even a second. Sherlock had expected to be invited into the room at night and find Sebastian packing to leave but nothing like that happened. Sebastian stayed in with Jim overnight while Sherlock stayed out, removed like a fly in the ointment, and forced to sleep in another room. Not that he slept much though, at the most three or four hours. When he woke up for the fourth time and couldn’t go back to sleep again, he decided to step out for a while.

 

As dawn started to break out in the eastern skies Sherlock left the villa and took a long jog on the beach, trying to clear his head.

 

Instead of clearing his head he felt more burdened with confusion than ever. So Mycroft had reached out to Sebastian. Did that mean Mycroft had cut a deal with Sebastian too? Why was Sebastian here? Was he here to reclaim lost territory? Did Jim consider Sebastian as his warship while smaller boats like Sherlock and Jürgen came and went? If that was the case then was death waiting for Sherlock at the end of the year? Had that been Jim’s planning all along and was Sherlock, like an emotional fool, conjuring fairytales in his head to hang on to his dreams about a possible future life with Jim!

 

That’s where it struck him hard!

 

Was he actually harboring a dream of growing old with Jim?

 

 _‘Caring is not an advantage, caring is not an advantage, caring is not an advantage’_ was what he kept repeating constantly in a low murmur as he settled down on an abandoned fishing boat, perched on the edge of it.

 

“Hello early bird!”

 

Sherlock didn’t even turn in the direction of the pleasant female voice. “I smelled your perfume before I heard you,” he rattled off his findings confidently, “From the whiff I know you applied it just a while ago, which means you had planned on meeting me here. This is your seduction perfume, isn’t it? Fruity and sweet, subtle yet provocative! Don’t deny because nobody sprays perfume over her jogging suit at six-thirty in the morning and goes for a run on the beach.”

 

A Styrofoam cup of hot coffee was pushed into his hands along with a bottle of cold water. Then he felt movement next to him and knew Irene had settled down inches from him.

 

“Okay so Sherlock,” the woman began in a very calm, composed tone, “First things first, I am on your side. I have no reasons to betray you or corner you or trap you because if I do so Jim will have my hide. I have worked years to gain his trust and I won’t lose it in one little stroke. As for the perfume, yes I applied it just before I left the villa but not because I wanted to seduce you. I applied it so I could listen to you do your thing, rat-tat style statements based on deductive reasoning. You look at your best whilst doing that and I missed it over the past few years. Now, if you’re not going to be hostile towards me, I want to say a few things to you.”

 

“Go on,” Sherlock started drinking from the bottle of water.

 

“Jim and Seb go back a long way. It’s a wise move to leave them be and not compare yourself to Seb’s position in Jim’s life.”

 

“Yeah, why not? Let him have Jim while I remain a little distraction.”

 

“Jim isn’t yours to own. Have you not got that yet? He is like this sand,” she bent down and grabbed a fistful, watching the grains escape from between her fingers till nothing was left behind, “The harder you try to trap him, the faster he escapes. If you truly want to be a keeper you need to give him his space, make him desire you rather than desire him too much and bore him after a while.”

 

“Wow,” Sherlock sipped his coffee, “That’s very helpful.”

 

She placed her hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, “You saved my life once. I just want to help you.”

 

“Yeah, of course you do.”

 

“There is one thing about Jim. He has a special place in his life for everything and everyone and he can paint himself in a thousand different colors to suit the occasion. Despite his work and all the long hours he keeps, he always makes time for his art work. Despite his propensity to move away from ordinariness, he always agrees to do something ordinary if that helps his cause, his clients or his aides. Even if he sleeps with a hundred people, he will come home only to those he likes and trusts. If one of his lieutenants is valued for their service, he will ensure other lieutenants also get a chance to be his favorite.”

 

Sherlock looked at her. She was smiling curiously. “And your point is?” He asked.

 

“Your place in his life is secure Sherlock. Even if Sebastian is also in it.”

 

***

 

Lady Smallwood cleared her throat to draw Mycroft’s attention. The Iceman looked up and instantly put on that mask he wore at all professional meetings, one which didn’t allow anyone to see the thoughts and emotions inside his head. “Not working this time Holmes,” she said.

 

“What’s not working?” Mycroft was scared of only one thing in life, a woman’s intuition. From the way the lady was looking at him, he feared he was caught.

 

“Let me tell you a story that I wrote in my head,” she insisted as she took a seat, “You tell me whether I am going in the right direction or not. A successful, powerful and suave man thinks nobody can ever capture his heart and thoughts and make him dream of a future that doesn’t strictly involve his work. Then he meets his rogue who’s intelligent, cunning, adorable in his own unique ways and very charming if he wants to be. This gentleman wants that rogue but he doesn’t know how to get him. Then he lays out a plan, a trap hidden beneath it, to capture the rogue and tie him down forever.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mycroft maintained his ice cool exterior but inside he was shuddering, just a bit.

 

“Well, what happens next it called the twist of destiny,” she went on, curious eyes fixed on his face, “The rogue turns out to be far cleverer than he was supposed to be and makes full use of the plan, but doesn’t get caught in the trap beneath it. He not only successfully escapes the trap, he continues his activities outside the purview of this gentleman’s grasp and suddenly one fine morning, decides to call out the latter’s bluff.”

 

“What bluff?” Mycroft’s voice was tight now.

 

“That this gentleman cannot really hurt the rogue. For the first time in his life he met his match. On the other hand, _not for the first time_ in his life he has suddenly found his brother thrown in the mix.”

 

Her eyes were narrow, scrutinizing. Mycroft shifted in his chair. She went on, “Sherlock might be slower than you, not so well-connected and definitely not as wealthy and powerful as you have become. But he does outscore you in two departments. He is handsomer, more beautiful if I may add, and he can do anything himself. He doesn’t get things done like you, which gives him _an added advantage of being the ‘doer’_. He is ripe for the attention of the rogue, who could convert him to the dark side if he wishes.”

 

Mycroft didn’t want his worst fears confirmed. Like a robot he repeated, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“I am talking about your everlasting crush James Isaac Moriarty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Sherlock is the master of ignoring the obvious, Mycroft is the Zen master of denial.


	18. Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Outside of your protective shield in London, anything can happen Sherlock Holmes.”

Never before had Sherlock thought so much about trivialities like the difference between jealousy and envy.

 

But he was doing that now as he watched Sebastian, laughing and giggling with the other aides and once in a while casting a ‘pitying look’ at Sherlock, as if trying to console him saying ‘It’s okay detective, you are still second in line for the attention (and affections) of our Jim-Jim’.

 

Envy occurs when we lack a desired attribute enjoyed by another (like others being jealous of Sherlock’s deductive genius). Jealousy occurs when something we already possess (usually a special relationship, like when mummy would listen to Mycroft and not to him) is threatened by a third person. Envy is a two-person situation whereas jealousy is a three-person situation. Envy is a reaction to lacking something (like Sherlock always envied John’s ability to face a situation alone while he often needed John around, just to be sure). Jealousy is a reaction to the threat of losing something (usually some _one, in this case the special bond he had developed with Jim Moriarty_ ).

 

Sherlock sighed and looked away determinedly from Sebastian Moran. No, he was not jealous of Moran nor was he envious of Moran’s good looks. So what if the man was drop dead gorgeous and had everything set in perfection on his face. The ideal nose, jaw, mouth, eyebrows, eyes, cheekbones, even ears. And that body, just how long did that dickhead spend time in the gym developing that body. Didn’t that make him slack at work with Jim?

 

_Maybe he was a slacker, which was why Jim had sent him away to some safe place._

 

It didn’t make him feel better. He saw the clear awe and respect in the eyes of the aides and even Irene, they wouldn’t look at Sebastian that way if he was a lazy-arse or a complete fool.

 

“Stop thinking so loudly.”

 

The baritone was even deeper than his. Had to be Moran.

 

“Colonel,” he growled.

 

“Detective,” came the completely calm response.

 

Sherlock stole a glance at Sebastian and felt his bitterness grow. Now the lines between jealousy and envy were blurring and he couldn’t decide which side he was on. The man had a hickey on his neck, a split lip that was the result of a biting kiss and he looked so at ease in his skin and super happy that the detective had no problems in deducing the source of his wellbeing. People usually looked and behaved like this when they had accomplished something big or had amazing sex.

 

“You’re still thinking loud,” Sebastian chuckled.

 

“I am not in the mood for company,” Sherlock snapped.

 

Sebastian stretched out his long legs on the coffee table before them and pushed his pelvis up to crack his back. The soft snapping sound was followed by a soft gasp from Sherlock when he saw the prominent outline of the blond man’s manhood, trapped under his sweatpants. God, he was huge. How was Sherlock supposed to compete with that? Wait, was he even competing? Was the length and girth of a man’s cock all that was there to make someone happy? Maybe he could satisfy Jim better with it but if Sherlock knew that a few other kinks could easily replace the extra couple of inches this confounded colonel packed down there. He was determined not to be ‘lacking’ in bed in any possible way.

 

“If you aren’t in a chatty mood, let me begin the conversation,” Sebastian started to drink from his glass of Scotch. He took measured and elegant sips. Okay, so not an uncouth beast then. Still sophisticated and charming, like a typical military colonel.

 

“As long as I have the right not to answer,” Sherlock said stiffly.

 

“Of course, you are a free man,” Sebastian laughed.

 

“Neither of us are,” Sherlock said pointedly.

 

He had the satisfaction of seeing Sebastian’s guard drop considerably. His eyes grew dark for a moment and his smile slipped. When he spoke next though, his voice didn’t betray any emotions he felt inside, “Of course we are free. We are free to choose whose side we are on and who matters the most to us. I have made my decision years ago, my question is, have you made your decision as well?”

 

“What decision?”

 

“You playing dumb with me?”

 

“Spell it out.”

“All right then. Is this just an elaborate plan between you and your brother to cage him? If that’s so I shall forget I am retired and snap your neck. Then your brother will have a missile up his arse instead of the stick up it, which he is known for.”

 

Sherlock gave Sebastian an incredulous look, “And these accusations are because?”

 

“Not accusations,” Sebastian waved his hand dismissively and took another sip of his Scotch, “These are fears. Before you say that it’s impossible to think I can be afraid, then let me clarify that I can be afraid too. For someone else.”

 

“Jim?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Sherlock wanted to ask a huge range of questions but nothing came out of his mouth. Every time he decided on a doubt to clarify, he was left struggling with the words to express it. This was rare for him, extremely rare, but then this life he was leading was one he had no prior experience of. He had never felt threatened by anyone other than Jim, that too in a professional space, and never felt jealous and possessive about anybody (maybe a tiny bit about John and his girlfriends but that was only a fraction of what he felt now). New things were happening to him and he was not coping too well, he was acutely aware of that. He missed his old, spontaneous, confident, sharp-tongued self.

 

“Hey,” Sebastian elbowed him.

 

“Ouch, don’t.”

 

“Oh sorry, I can be a bit rough and brusque at times.”

 

Sherlock just huffed out a breath.

 

“When you accepted Jim’s bold and different proposal,” Sebastian looked at him through those piercing eyes, “I hope you understood what you were signing up for.”

 

Sherlock held his gaze, “What do you mean?”

 

“What I am trying to say is,” Sebastian took his legs off the table and sat up straighter, “Things look rosy, different, from afar. But when you get closer, you often end up scorching yourself. It’s one thing looking at something and another thing being a part of it. How many of us have watched a ballet or a concert and loved it, yet can’t imagine being on a stage like that and doing the performance ourselves?”

 

“I knew what I was signing up for,” Sherlock said confidently, “I knew this involved criminal activities and I have value added…..”

 

“I mean him,” Sebastian said.

 

When Sherlock looked at him quizzically, he added, “Jim is like the sun Sherlock. Essential for all of us because his rays of brilliance nourish us, feed us, makes us richer and powerful. In your case he makes you do what you do best, put your incredible brains to use. He is a worthy opponent and a magnificent ally. Yet it’s not often that people get to touch the sun and those who do, don’t live to tell the tale. It burns them completely.”

 

Sherlock’s heart sank.

 

“I am not so easy to burn,” he said with determination etched in every word he spoke, “I am not just a regular nobody who can’t handle the pressure, the heat, the risk of being close to Jim Moriarty. I almost took him down once and perhaps because of that he has that faith on my ability to keep up with him. He chose me before I chose him and now we have chosen each other, I am not going to be someone who’ll fall off the truck on the highway.”

 

Sebastian looked at him silently for a long moment. Then he replied, “I am glad to see this confidence but I am not sure you know what you’re up against. Jim has issues, lots of issues, unresolved issues and he is under medication. Yes, the situation is far better than what it was three years ago but he will always have this tendency to self-destruct or this impulse control problem that lands him into hot water. He will have his moments of fear and doubt, which he will mask under his everpresent cocky attitude. It’s during those moments that you need to be there for him, unconditionally, unless you are telling me you’re here just for the thrills and chills of it.”

 

“Who said I am?” Sherlock retorted, “I am here for Jimmy.”

 

_Take that you blond buffoon, take that! I get to call him Jimmy like you call him Jim-Jim._

 

“Then be there for him,” Sebastian’s gaze and tone grew serious, just like his body language, “From what I have known about you and observed, you are the one who’s usually taken care of. You had John, Mycroft, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, even Lestrade. Here the roles are reversed. You should be the one watching his back and forgiving his mistakes and never forgetting how much he means to you. If you do….”

 

“Say it colonel. Don’t leave the threat unfinished.”

 

“I will personally rearrange all your bones and you will never walk straight even on plain grounds again.”

 

“You think you can?”

 

“Outside of your protective shield in London, anything can happen Sherlock Holmes.”

 

“I have been threatened before Moran. Yet here I am, unscathed and unfettered. You can threaten all you want but…..”

 

“None of those who threatened you was Sebastian Moran.”

 

Sherlock got a start. But before he could react, Sebastian looped his arm around him and gave him a lopsided smile. “You took a big step out of your comfort zone. I am sure you won’t let that come down to a naught at the end of the day. But be careful, you can’t go around looking like you just lost your marbles because he and I spent a whole day and night together. This will happen again Sherlock, get used to that. I will be a part of his life, no matter who else comes and goes, and should you wish to be in my place you have to think like me. Not like some jealous college kid who can’t stop fretting and fuming and pouting when the girl they crush on likes their best friend.”

 

Sherlock had the decency to blush and the temerity to ask an honest question. “Did you sleep with him? Did you start sleeping with him again?”

 

Sebastian let out a clear, sparkling laughter. “Well, we never stopped that Holmes, we never did. But never mind me, there are others he has slept with and unless you achieve to do the impossible, which is about making him monogamous, there will be the occasional man who will warm his bed. Mostly those are for professional reasons and for experimentation purposes, there are no real relationships there. At least he doesn’t sleep with women anymore. He seems to have lost interest in then, which was not the case about five years ago. Ask Ms. Irene Genevieve Adler, she will confirm that.”

 

“She did,” Sherlock gritted his teeth.

 

“Oh look at you, that kicked puppy face again.”

 

“Why did he send you away?”

 

“Never mind that.”

 

“Tell me. I have a right to know.”

 

“No you don’t, you have no rights over me or any information related to me. Why don’t you ask Jim instead?”

 

Sherlock looked at the taller man defiantly before it dawned on him that they literally looked like a couple cozying up on the couch. They were sitting close together, he had placed his hand on Sebastian’s knee without even knowing it and Sebastian’s long arm was still looped around him, holding him close. There was something touching, assuring about that intimacy that reminded him about what he shared with John. He missed John. He missed that stability part of his life. “He will tell me when he is ready,” Sherlock admitted.

 

“Good judgment,” Sebastian drained the glass, “You are a quick learner. Wait for it. I’d prefer that he tells you rather than me doing so.”

 

Sherlock looked a little crestfallen and Sebastian noticed it. He felt a nudge, a soft and playful nudge. “Hey you, don’t do that. You somehow trap me with that look and make me say things I have no intentions of sharing.”

 

“Is it?”

 

“I can share only one thing here. He let me go because he loves me.”

 

***

 

Sebastian had gone out that night and Sherlock found himself in the awkward situation where he had no clue whether he should sleep in the same room with Jim or in the other bedroom where he had spent the night before. He debated it several times in his head, frequently casting glances at the closed door to Jim’s home office and then, after he had learned that Jim had retired for the night, at the closed door to the master bedroom. One indication, one signal, one word was all he needed and he would go running there to claim his place next to the criminal mastermind. But there were none.

 

He waited till 1 am and when nothing seemed to move, he marched to the door and knocked softly. After three knocks he heard a voice, “Come in already.”

 

Sherlock stepped inside, armed with several excuses for this nocturnal visit. No way was he going to come across like a desperate doe eyed lover who was dying to be next to Jim so he could snuggle into those thin but shapely arms. Jim was growing on him like a nail, or like hairs, one could always chop them off but uprooting them was always a painful or an ugly affair. All this in just over two months, which was amazing and unnerving for the detective. He felt a well of emotions unraveling inside him when he saw Jim under those covers, shivering because the room was too cold, and he realized he hadn’t even begun to tap into half of that well so far.

 

He was done for!

 

“I needed some clothes,” Sherlock said.

 

“Clothes at 1 am?” Jim’s eyebrows arched upwards.

 

“Night clothes.”

 

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

 

“Nothing. Just a bit too smelly from last night’s use.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I won’t take more than a minute. By the way, what are you reading?”

 

“Canadian politics and political history. The plan has come along nicely and if all goes well, we should be gone by tomorrow evening. Next stop, Montreal.”

 

“That’s nice,” Sherlock took out the clothes and noticed how Sebastian’s clothes nicely mingled with those of his own and Jim’s, “I suppose I will be coming along as well. Do I have a part to play or am I just standing by?”

 

Jim’s silence stunned him and when he emerged from the closet, changed into his new PJ’s, he found the mastermind standing next to the bed. He wore shorts, black shorts, and an orange T shirt with a message ‘Succulent’ embossed on it.

 

“Come on Sherly, be a man and spit it out,” Jim moved towards him in a menacing fashion. He spoke in a voice that had a harshness to it which was beyond his usual levels, “You want to sleep in here with me, you want my cock inside you or your cock inside me and yet you’re making silly excuses to get in here and actually following them. What did you think I am? Johnny boy? Or Mycroft the great? Two people who know you inside out but are too caring to call you out on that. Your face Sherlylocks, it’s your face, it’s your biggest advantage and your biggest flaw. Whatever you think, it just shows up there. For example, I know right now that you have started to detest me in some way.”

 

“Wrong,” Sherlock tried to be as calm as possible.

 

“Wrong my left foot,” Jim said viciously, “You pathetic creature.”

 

“On the contrary,” Sherlock said evenly, “It’s you who’s being envious. You envy my ability to let go so easily.”

 

Jim’s eyes widened.

 

Sherlock advanced on him slowly this time, staring down at him from his full height. Jim didn’t even flinch. He looked at Sherlock the way a scientist looks at a lab rat post an experiment and for a second the detective wondered if this was all a part of Jim’s usual drama, the regular ‘games’ he liked to play with people, an invention of his canny brains to entertain himself. But there was a hint of tension in the smaller man’s body language that made him contradict his earlier assumption.

 

“People have fought for you, fought to stay on, hold on, haven’t they?” Sherlock had mastered the analysis of Jim’s character when it came to romantic or sexual relationships and he made complete use of it.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jim sneered.

 

He’s angry with himself, for not being able to give me a smart answer. If he’s me and we think like each other, then I need to make a sudden digression, an unexpected detour, one he will be forced to take.

 

“Come on Jimmy,” Sherlock gently led him back towards the bed, “It’s late, let’s sleep.”


	19. A Man and a Maniac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Molly have a chat. In the meantime Sherlock realizes just how unhinged Jim is, still he stands his ground.

The moment the doctor finished putting the last stitches on the patient, the senior nurse on duty whispered, “That was beautiful doctor.”

 

John Watson stepped out of the surgery room and took off his mask, “You have thirty years’ experience in the OT and seen hundreds of doctors perform surgeries. So your compliment means a lot to me Christine.”

 

“I mean every word I said just now doc,” she said as she watched him wash his hands and reach for the towel to wipe them down, “I always knew you had rock steady nerves and a keen eye for detail. I knew you would ensure you’re getting the finest details right. But never had I expected that someone could be so awesome on their first independent surgery. So far other senior surgeons have been in the room or you have assisted them. This was just you and only you and it wasn’t some minor appendectomy or gall bladder removal. You removed an old man’s lung and so delicately and efficiently that he not just survived, he would live for another five years or more, if he takes care of himself.”

 

“Well,” John said with a tiny smile, “That’s what we are here for isn’t it? To make them better and to see their families smile.”

 

“Then why aren’t you smiling?”

 

“What….uh….?”

 

“Yes. Lucy and I were talking about this. You will soon get your license. It’s raining good news for you because you also received an award based on the feedback from our patients. You are this month’s winner for the ‘special contribution to patient wellness’ trophy. Then why is it that you look like you’re going through a midlife crisis? Sorry to be so forward but we like you, if there is anything we can do to help…..”

 

“No, I am fine, really,” John said quickly, “I am all good. Thanks though, it’s nice to see people keep an eye on your wellbeing. I have just been working very hard. A little tired, that’s all.”

 

“Ah I see,” she said, “By the way, look who’s here!”

 

John turned his head, “Hey Molly!”

 

“Hello John,” she smiled. She looked cute.

 

“Been a while,” John said, “Let’s me remove my scrubs and I’ll be with you in five! Maybe we could have dinner together tonight.”

 

“You said exactly what was on my mind,” Molly seemed pleased, “I’d like that very much.”

 

***

 

“Come on,” Molly said as they ate together that night at one of their favorite joints near Barts, “Out with it John.”

 

John waved his fork mildly at her, “If you’re getting at what I think you’re getting at, ladies first!”

 

She put her spoon down and took a deep breath, “Listen, you are aware of my feelings for Sherlock. I have loved him always, will always do, irrespective of whether he is gay or I have a boyfriend now. Last time was harder on you but easy on me. I knew for a fact that he was alive and well and doing something he always loved to do, travel and solve cases and take down the web of a criminal mastermind who had become his chief nemesis. At the same time I was assured by Mycroft that Jim wouldn’t hurt Sherlock in any way, that he was gone. But this time it’s different, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

“I don’t know who the enemy is. I have no idea who he is with. Mycroft has no idea either and that’s what worries me the most. If there is no control factor…..”

 

“Molly, we both need to accept that nobody can control Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft gives an illusion of control, not real controls. Last time he went out in the world, Sherlock was mostly on his own. Myc didn’t travel with him or stay around him to protect him. In fact while Sherlock was in Serbia Myc didn’t help him till the job was well and truly done and that involved keeping our good friend in jail for several days. He was beaten and starved. Mycroft is very professional that way, he doesn’t bend rules beyond a point, not even for his brother.”

 

“Yeah,” Molly nodded slowly, “You’re maybe right. But where do you think he’s gone this time? Does Mycroft really not know? Do you not know?”

 

“Believe me, none of us do,” John replied, “On behalf of Myc and myself, I can confirm this. He just disappeared one night and left behind some notes for us, the contents of which I have shared with you. At least the note I received doesn’t mention anything specific.”

 

“Is he all right?”

“I am sure he is. We need to have more confidence on him. He isn’t a child.”

 

“Yes….”

 

“Molly?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Since when have you been in love with Sherlock?”

 

“Since the first day I saw him, several years ago,” Molly’s voice had a dreamlike quality to it an John hid his smile behind his napkin, “Those eyes, those cheekbones, those curls, I fell in love with him before we were even introduced. But as I got to know him, as I began to see how he worked and how he thought, I crashed into love. He was so intelligent, so amazingly sorted out in the head, that I got drawn to him like a moth to flame. Maybe it was blind love because till he pointed out to me a couple of years ago, my gaydar didn’t ping for him. I refused to see that he wasn’t really attracted towards women. I always thought someday he will accept my proposal, he’ll thaw a little.”

 

John nodded, “You’re a very nice lady. Competent, kind, clever, classy. Sherlock has lost here, not you.”

 

“Yeah,” Molly giggled, “Nice words to sympathize.”

 

“Nah, not sympathy. You don’t need sympathy.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“You mean do I need sympathy?”

 

“No,” Molly narrowed her eyes, “I thought the two of you were a couple, that you’ve always been a couple. Every person at Barts and some at Scotland Yard feel so too. May I ask if that is true? Are you two a couple?”

 

John took a sip of wine and chuckled, “I have answered this so often that I can quote this even while I am asleep. I am not gay Molly. I haven’t even experimented. Yes, Sherlock and I have been physically demonstrative at times but it’s never gone beyond chaste kisses on the cheek and forehead and awkward hugs from him and more open and affectionate hugs from me. I believe that loving someone and being in love with them are two different things. So to answer your question, no we have not been a romantic couple but we have been a couple when it comes to work, sharing living arrangements, helping each other in times of stress and distress.”

 

“Oh-kay,” Molly shrugged, “Anyways, so no news of him? No news when he’ll be back?”

 

“None whatsoever,” John said resignedly, “He did mention one year, so about three fourths of that time to go.”

 

***

 

Sherlock lay completely still as Jim got into bed next to him. He tried to keep his breathing normal and even and his eyes closed and body still. It was difficult to deceive Jim but not impossible, he was sure of that.

 

Jim lay on his back and sighed aloud. Then he rolled over to face the other side and sighed again. Then he sat up a bit and let out a whine.

 

Sherlock bit back a grin. They were in a small village north of Montreal and Jim’s Canadian job was going on in full swing. The primary candidate for the post of the country’s premier was slowly bowing down to the pressure Jim and his web had started putting on him and his family. One look at Jim’s cunning, beaming face was enough for anyone to know he was tasting resounding professional success. Privately though, there was another story. Since they had departed from Mauritius and Sebastian had gone back to Asia, Sherlock had not allowed Jim to have sex with him. Initially Jim was too proud to ask and too stubborn to give in, so the detective had bided his time and kept himself prepared for the day Jim’s patience ran out.

 

Tonight that moment seemed to have arrived.

 

He got a knee to his lower back. Mild pain shot up but he ignored it and rearranged his position, trying not to snicker. Jim was so obvious in his ways it was almost hilarious. Next he would get an elbow to the side, he was sure of that.

 

Moments later Jim’s elbow hit his side.

 

Sherlock let out a disgruntled sound and pushed Jim’s arm off, as if he was doing that in his sleep. Then he rolled over and faced the other side again, curling up to be more comfortable.

 

“Sherly…..” came the faint bleat.

 

“Sherl….” He felt the man snuggle into his back.

 

“Sherlylocks….” Jim started to rub his hard length up Sherlock’s tail bone.

 

At that point the English sleuth found it very hard to keep his cool composure. His erection was hard as a battering ram and he had a faint sensation of tingling in his arse. He had missed the feeling of fullness Jim’s cock gave him and equally missed drilling into this sexy creature and making him scream his name out. But this was a game and a game he was determined to win. If Jim wanted him to be his regular sex partner, he at least needed Sherlock’s permission before taking Sebastian to bed.

 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? I KNOW YOU WANT THIS AS MUCH AS I DO.”

 

For good measure Jim thrust his hand into Sherlock’s pajama bottoms and grasped his hot, turgid erection. Sherlock moaned out like a slut. “Yess,” Jim said, “I knew it.”

 

“You’re not getting anything,” Sherlock warned.

 

“Who will stop me?” Jim kicked out his feet under the covers like a child.

 

Sherlock promptly stripped off his clothes and turned and lay on his back, completely naked and the covers kicked down. Instantly he heard an animal yowl from Jim who literally pounced on him and began to kiss, bite, nip, lick and suck on various inches of his skin. Jim’s soft hairs tickled Sherlock’s skin, his hot breath scorched him in place, yet Sherlock didn’t respond, make any sounds or kiss Jim back. He didn’t even make an attempt to touch Jim, much less draw him closer or wrap his arms and legs around him. Jim continued to grind down on Sherlock, kissed him on the mouth, then suckled at his long throat.

 

Then he stopped.

 

Sherlock didn’t react, nor did he move a muscle.

 

“What’s this new nonsense you’ve started?” Jim asked angrily, sitting on top of Sherlock. He looked sexy, irresistible, but Sherlock had made up his mind not to give in. When he didn’t answer, Jim smacked his chest with open palms and asked angrily, “What’re you doing?”

 

“Nothing,” Sherlock answered nonchalantly.

 

“That’s the point,” Jim hissed, “You’re doing nothing.”

 

“You said ‘who’d stop me’ so I didn’t stop you but that doesn’t mean you can make me start.”

 

“You don’t want me?”

 

“I do. But if we are to be proper sexual partners and not each other’s keep or rent boys or whores, I insist we have some conversations so we can set the records straight. Then, we come to an agreement about what works and what does not.”

 

Jim stiffened over him and his eyes burned holes into Sherlock’s face, “You wanna blackmail me? I agree to your jealousy-induced conditions and that’s when I get sex. You think I can’t get sex elsewhere, with another person? I have multiple options, all I need to do is ask.”

 

“Yeah, you do,” Sherlock agreed, “But none of them will be me.”

 

“I am not going to let you win Sherlock,” Jim got up from Sherlock’s body and got off the bed as well, looking strangely evil and deranged, “You think you can arm twist me in bed? My stupid genius, I have ways and means to arm twist you in several other ways. I didn’t think I’d need to resort to this but…..you leave me with no choice whatsoever. Whatever happens next is your fault Sherlock Holmes.”

 

There was a mad glint in his eyes which warned Sherlock of real danger and something seriously bad happening right before his eyes and the detective was also on his feet in a flash, “Jim wait…..what?”

 

“You will regret this all your fucking miserable life,” Jim grinned in a completely unhinged manner and climbed on the window sill.

 

For Sherlock, the next three or four seconds was one of the scariest, most terrifying experiences of his life. He lunged forward with his long arms outstretched just as Jim turned and let himself fall. In a split-second Sherlock saw his former nemesis slowly disappear off the window and before he knew it, he had made a superhuman effort to reach it on time. His strong right arm extended outwards and he grabbed Jim by an arm as the man dangled thirty feet off the ground, still grinning in an absurd manner as he stared up at him. Sherlock reached downward and grabbed a fistful of Jim’s hairs as well, in case he lost his handhold on the man’s arm.

 

“Let go,” Jim snickered, “Keep your end of the deal, don’t react.”

 

“Jim I swear….”

 

“You started this game, you wanna finish it?” Jim was totally nonplussed at the way he hung between life and death.

 

“Come up here you crazy son of a bitch.”

 

“Noooooo,” Jim sang.

 

Sherlock had never thought of himself as physically so strong but during that critical moment of need that strength buried deep inside him showed itself in a glorious flash. Before Jim could do something more stupid Sherlock hauled him back into the room in one powerful but jerking move and Jim found himself sprawled out on the rug covered floor with Sherlock on his knees next to him and panting.

 

“So,” Jim got up and coolly went to the bed and lay down, “Am I getting sex or not?”

 

Sherlock’s anger knew no bounds but so did his fear. He realized he couldn’t just watch Jim die, especially if that was a direct result of the Irishman’s famous mad side. He also remembered Sebastian’s words, about how hard it was to be someone who loved Jim and got close to him.

 

In a second Sherlock’s mind was made up. If Sebastian could do it, then so could he. Perhaps even better than Sebastian.

 

“Yes,” he said as calmly and convincingly as possible as he joined Jim in bed and reached out for the man’s arse, “You are for sure.”

 

***

 

“I could ride you for five days straight,” Jim breathed out the words, dirty words and filthy moans escaping him as he kept rising and falling, rolling backwards and frontwards, on Sherlock’s thick man rod, “God I have missed this so much!”

 

He had cum three times already in the past hour and Sherlock had cum once.

 

Yet Jim showed no signs of slowing. Sherlock was the needy one this time around. While Jim had continued to cover Sherlock with his semen, Sherlock had been deprived of his much-needed second orgasm by the canny criminal who slowed down or stilled totally whenever the detective was about to explode inside him. “Isn’t this glorious Sherly?” Jim asked as he move back and forth on his lover’s throbbing erection, “You realize that you are fucking me in your own spunk. Yeah, I can feel more of it just waiting to spill out like a geyser from the rocks. Oh fuck yeah, just there, feels so good…..you are so hard for me baby!

 

“Then make me cum,” Sherlock demanded.

 

“You made me wait for two and half weeks,” Jim groaned as his prostate was struck by one of Sherlock’s erratic movements, “I bet you can wait for a few more minutes.”

 

“Can’t,” Sherlock began to thrust up uncontrollably, “So fucking close!”

 

“Yes,” Jim suddenly squealed, “Yes.”

 

He began to ride Sherlock harder and the detective moaned and wailed with an utter need to find release. Every single part of his body wanted this, needed this, craved this, and his famous brain had stopped functioning completely. All he desired was to let go of the huge load of cum that had surreptitiously built up in him and was threatening to pour out any moment now.

 

No sooner had the Englishman thought of that, he came so hard and for so long that he almost passed out from the sheer force of it. Everything aside from Jim blurred in his vision and he felt nothing other than the velvety warmth and smoothness of Jim’s arse covering his cock like a snug sheath over a potent sword. His hips jerked hard and he shot spurt after spurt of semen, flooding his lover’s channel. When some of it trickled out, Sherlock thrust up as if by habit and Jim let out a yelp and came again. His now meagre essence splashed out on Sherlock’s chest and the latter scraped it off with his fingers and tasted it.

 

Jim appreciated that move. He was all for kinky, obscenely hot antics in bed. Even Sherlock had to admit how much he missed this whilst he settled Jim on his chest, ready to fall asleep.

 

However, when things calmed down, Jim unexpected opened his eyes wide and asked, “Okay what the fuck did you want to talk me about?”


	20. There Were Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthea meets John over a common concern

Sherlock tried to suppress his grin, a knowing grin that threatened to break out when the ‘expected eventually happened’. “Sebastian,” he began but Jim raised a hand to stop him.

 

“No, that is out of bounds.”

 

There was a firmness and finality in those words which made the statement nonnegotiable. However, Sherlock was not disheartened by it. By now he had learned a trick or two in manipulation from none other than Jim the master manipulator, and knew better than to try the same thing twice. This time he’d talk about Sebastian in an indirect manner, he’d start with a different topic and ensure Jim brought up Sebastian’s name in that conversation. “Well let’s talk about your sex life then,” he said in a completely calm and even tone, “How many have shared your bed with you?”

 

“Never counted.”

 

“Ballpark?”

 

“Must be over fifty, or seventy if you count women and trans.”

 

“I am happy to see you don’t differentiate.”

 

“Nowadays I do.”

 

Sherlock rolled them over so Jim was trapped underneath him. Instantly Jim’s hand rose to smack him but Sherlock kissed his open palm and suggestively licked his index finger. The anger melted on the criminal’s face and he huffed, “Bastard.”

 

“Hmmm, followed your lead.”

 

“What’s your point really?”

 

“Let me guess something about you and your sex life based on the meagre details you’ve shared so far and my observations,” Sherlock suggested, moving slightly so Jim no longer felt trapped under his larger frame and greater weight, “Game for that?” He paused, watched Jim give a slow nod and then continued, “Well, you experimented at one point, at some point sex was a weapon for you, maybe in the past you had been forced into sexual relations by people more powerful than yourself. But, as your power and success grew, sex no longer remained as a source of endorphins, adrenalin or any other thrill that is associated with conjugal life.”

 

“Hmmmm…..yeah maybe you’re partly right,” Jim said, looking at the ceiling thoughtfully, “Sex can have some benefits here and there but that’s not why we do it.”

 

“Correct,” Sherlock kissed the tip of Jim’s nose and the criminal scowled.

 

“Stop coddling me,” he hissed, kicking at Sherlock but missing by a wide margin.

 

Sherlock giggled. He knew Jim’s blows were as harmless as the aggressive yip-yip-yip of a little puppy that was barely a month old. “Hey listen, I do like to coddle and cuddle you at times,” he spoke to Jim in an emphatic manner, letting him know that he meant every word he said, “You just have to put up with it sometimes. Okay? Now, let’s get back to your sex life! From the time sex stopped being a source of benefits for you and the sheer excitement and high it usually brings kind of flattened and plateaued out, you started treating your sexual partners with something more than just lust or control. It became a different thing, a sort of feeling or emotion that was……”

 

Jim growled, “I have no feelings or emotions.”

 

“I have realized, without any so-called reliable sources, that it’s not at all true,” Sherlock mimicked Jim’s tone and some of his words from their poolside encounter many years ago.

 

Jim’s eyes widened, “You dare…..”

“No, I don’t,” Sherlock replied, “But you should.”

 

“What? What?” Jim was confused now and Sherlock knew he was winning this round. But he had to strike immediately or this mastermind would bite back and settle scores in his favor once and for all.

 

“Please dare to admit that you had feelings for people,” Sherlock looked straight into Jim’s pupils which were beginning to dilate slightly, “That you can have feelings for people even now. Your sexually cavalier lifestyle didn’t end because of a compulsion, it ended because of a choice you made. Well, after you made that choice something went wrong there and now you have made up your mind to be a sadist and a masochist. Suffer so others suffer as well, watch others suffer and think you repaid an old debt.”

 

Jim’s face went blank and suddenly he forcefully pushed Sherlock off himself. Then he curled up on his side, facing away from the detective. Taken aback and slightly worried that he had pushed the man too much for one time, Sherlock spooned him lightly and sighed.

 

“Jim,” he kissed the smaller man’s neck.

 

No response. But he was sure Jim was awake.

 

“Jimmy?” He repeated, stroking his hairs. They felt like fine strands of silk between his fingers and he carded through them some more, reaching the scalp underneath. “Hey,” he said, “Don’t wanna talk? We can park this for another day.”

 

“There wasn’t just one man I had some feelings for,” Jim suddenly spoke, his tone expectedly sad, distressed and lost, “There were two.”

 

Sherlock felt a pleasant tingle run up his spine and a ball of excitement build in his diaphragm. He wanted to hear his name, even if he was not the first one Jim fell for. That had to be Sebastian confounded Moran.

 

Jim lay still and went on talking in a strangely soft murmur, as if he was speaking to himself and not to anyone else in the room. As Sherlock cuddled closer, he realized Jim neither took anything from that hug nor did he give anything back. He was strangely detached. It hurt him a little but he knew he had to cross those hot coals to get to where he wanted to be, to be Jim’s love, confidante, best friend, to be ‘him’. He gritted his teeth and waited. “Sebastian broke my barriers at first,” Jim said, “At first he was an employee. Then he became a friend, someone I could talk to even when I was not at my best. Then he wormed his way into my bed and heart. He made me feel I had one.”

 

“Oh,” was all Sherlock could say. He felt like strangling Sebastian with his own hands.

 

“But he was not meant to be what he wanted to be,” Jim added, “He was weak.”

 

To this statement Sherlock felt a need to express his utter shock. Sebastian could have been a lot of things in his book but a weak man or a coward he was not. But the detective held his tongue, reining his words in at the last moment. It was better to hear the version in Jim’s head rather than draw conclusions on his own. He had learned over time that human emotions could not always be quantified or rationalized. Sometimes they followed no discernible pattern at all.

 

“Sebby was strong in every way but the day he realized he couldn’t live without me was when all the problems started. My world is not exactly normal, or safe, or even predictable. The very thing that bound us together became nooses around our necks and we had to take a call.”

 

“So you decided to push him away?”

 

“I what?”

 

“You decided to break it off with him?”

“I haven’t. Tiger….I mean Sebby will always be a part of my life Sherlock. Accept it or ship out.”

 

Sherlock swallowed the hurt he felt and kept his voice steady with an immense effort, “He took it well?”

 

“No, of course not. But he knew there was no other way. Eventually he settled for what hurt him less than the other. I did the same.”

 

“You……you….do you….love him?”

 

Sherlock wished he hadn’t asked. He was prepared for Jim to snap back at him when the rather unexpected response came in a dead calm voice, determined and honest. “Yes,” Jim replied, pulling the covers over his shoulder, “I did and always will.”

 

Sherlock lay in miserable silence for a while, unable to sleep even though his body was tired and sated after their marathon sex. His brain was spinning and spiraling in different directions and for once his deductive reasoning failed completely. _Logic doesn’t apply to love or feelings, it simply doesn’t, accept it, just accept it_ , he kept repeating over and over in his head till the words echoed with a sonic boom in his ears. He shifted uncomfortably, breathing ragged and irregular, as he tried to cope with the revelations from his lover. No matter how he looked at things, he felt confused, lost and extremely jealous.

 

Jim was quiet and still in his arms but evidently he was a bit disturbed by their conversation too. It was very apparent that he couldn’t sleep either and was deliberating silently over their recent chat. When Sherlock shifted for the nineteenth time in twenty minutes he rolled over and looked at him crossly, “Why do you ask questions when you can’t handle the answers? You got together with me in your mid-thirties and I am only months younger than you, so then what did you expected me to be? A virgin who had never had a relationship? Are there such men in this world?”

 

Sherlock swallowed, bristling under Jim’s sharp gaze, “I was.”

 

“You, my friend, are an anomaly and not a rule.”

 

“I thought you were me.”

 

“Gosh. Now you throw that at me huh?”

 

“I can’t sleep Jim. Who was the other person?”

 

Jim sighed, “You idiot. If knowing about Sebby distressed you so much then the other name will kill you. I don’t want you to die….or go mad….yet.”

 

Sherlock scoffed, “Oh so that’s a later plan, is it?”

 

“It’s up to you. If you can handle this life then you’ll be fine. If you can’t, then anything can happen. I can’t be responsible for your reactions, can I?”

 

“I can handle anything. Anything. I just need some time, that’s all.”

 

Jim gave him a long, hard look and Sherlock made an involuntary distressed sound, feeling breathless and restless. Then the criminal did something totally unexpected. He lay back down and pulled Sherlock on to his chest, wrapping his arms around the much broader and larger man. Somehow Sherlock felt smaller, punier, in that situation. Jim seemed to tower over him in some manner that was inexplicable, like he was protecting Sherlock from everyone, even his own demons.

 

“Sleep, we will talk later,” came the high command and, much to his surprise, Sherlock drifted off within minutes.

 

***

 

“Another perfect crime,” Anthea said as she looked at the reports she had just procured from the Canadian intelligence unit, “Candidate expected to become a prime minister gets blackmailed suddenly by someone anonymous but so powerful that the whole political party goes silent on it. Somehow the wife is involved but nobody knows what it is, not even their closest aides and confidantes, not even their family. The evidence must be very incriminating because this man compromises in a major way to preserve his image, protect his family and suddenly comes out of the whole episode smelling like a rose.”

 

Mycroft looked at the papers, brows going up and down as he did so.

 

“Yes, we do see traces of a brilliant mastermind at work here,” he agreed, “Someone who knows how to pick the right targets, pick their weakest and most vulnerable spots, hit them when they are least expecting so and finally getting them to be their puppet because he’s compromised them so badly. Now this politician will do whatever the puppet master asks him to do, no matter how many months pass and how long he has been in power. Pass business deals and use powerplay to bend rules without getting caught, all to benefit the friends and clients of this mastermind who will…..”

 

“No doubt get fat commissions,” Anthea finished.

 

“Absolutely,” Mycroft picked up his phone and looked at a text he had received.

 

“Sounds rather familiar,” Anthea insisted, “Only three people can pull off stuff like this.”

 

“Yeah…..” Mycroft studied the text.

 

“Morgan Turkovic, Alam Maqbool and James Moriarty.”

 

“Turkovic I took down two years ago and he is still incarcerated. Maqbool is underground, he can’t do this and he won’t target Canada yet. Jim Moriarty is dead.”

 

“Is he?”

 

Mycroft looked up with a start, “Excuse me?”

 

Anthea nodded, “I have every doubt. If he is indeed dead, where is his grave?”

 

Mycroft calmly went back to the message and changed the topic abruptly. “This is a text from mummy. She says daddy and she got anniversary presents from Sherlock and included with those were a card and a recorded message. For their anniversary my parents received a gold-plated, pure silver nameplate for the door with their names embossed in beautiful calligraphy. Mum received a large hamper of Clinique cosmetics and dad got a political chessboard, where the board and figures are bespoke wooden handmade pieces and represent famous heads of governments from all over the world.”

 

Anthea stared at him in astonishment.

 

“The recorded message says he is well and his work is proceeding smoothly.”

 

“I see.”

 

“I need to call mummy now.”

 

“Do you want us to pick up the gifts and see if we can identify…..”

 

“Don’t be silly Anthea. Those are gifts from a son to his parents and Sherlock is not a criminal. There is no need for such drastic actions.”

 

Anthea’s lips moved but she swallowed down her words. No point arguing with her boss who was becoming increasingly elusive over the past few weeks. Ever since Sherlock Holmes had mysteriously disappeared three months ago, Mycroft had never been the same person. The focused, cool as ice, brainy, smart man she adored and worshipped was replaced by a secretive, diplomatic, somewhat distracted man who could barely hold a conversation anymore with her. He didn’t even seem very interested in work. It was only because he had created a fantastic team and some really good processes and compliance checks that things were moving on autopilot at both MI5 and MI6.

 

“Yes of course,” she said, “We shouldn’t be taking such drastic actions.”

 

His head didn’t even turn when she left the room, high heels clattering on the floor.

 

***

 

“Anthea?” John stood up to greet Mycroft’s assistant, “Don’t tell me you aren’t well.”

 

Anthea smiled with a big effort, “I can’t meet you for other reasons Dr. Watson?”

 

John acted like a chivalrous gentleman and took her coat, before pulling the chair back for her. “Well ma’am, I suppose it’s too late to meet for other reasons,” the good doctor joked as he sank down in his chair, “Years ago I did ask but I don’t think you were too interested in a former military doctor turned pensioner with a shocking limp and practically no money in the bank. No pun intended here but back then I was probably too lame for you to even consider a date.”

 

“Don’t embarrass me now,” Anthea colored severely, “You know how we have to choose between our profession and a family…..”

 

“Oh yes, that was just a joke,” John held up a hand and said pleasantly, “Didn’t mean to be sarcastic at all. Pardon me if it came out that way. Coffee?” When she nodded he pressed the intercom button and requested his receptionist at the clinic to organize for two double espressos. When he was done, he noticed Anthea looking at a photograph of Sherlock that John always kept on his desk. It was actually two photographs in a single frame, one with John, Sherlock and John’s sister Harry in it and the other one a solo shot of the famous detective. Locks flying wild in the cold sea breeze, a severe frown on his face, Sherlock still managed to look rather rugged and handsome in it.

 

“Miss him?” She asked.

 

John sighed, “At least this time I know he will be back. I know he is safe. I do get messages from him once a month.”

 

“You do?” She looked astounded.

 

“Yes,” John said, “He sent a text from an unknown phone. Then he sent a postcard. Recently he sent me a gift and a recorded message. The gift is an early friendship day gift by the way, here it is right on the table.”

 

Anthea took a look at the beautiful pocketwatch and exclaimed, “Wow, this is a collector’s item!”

 

“So it is,” John said, “He knew I wanted one like this…..”

 

“John,” Anthea suddenly grew serious, “I am worried.”

 

John frowned slightly, “About Sherlock? Nah! He can handle himself. As long as he gives us an indication that all is well in his part of the world, I can live with a year’s separation from my best buddy. After all, it’s just a year.”

 

“It’s not just a year,” Anthea said in a tone that sounded both ominous and pleading, “Do you realize we might lose Sherlock forever? And if we do, we will lose Mycroft too. I….I can’t let that happen John….I…..I love him.”


	21. A Job for Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock realizes Jim is falling for him too. Jim however, says Sherlock is only an investment.

“This is a job for you,” Jim winked.

 

Sherlock was sitting in the tub, leaning against the side with Jim leaning against his chest. The criminal sat between Sherlock’s spread legs, feeling the detective’s erection rub insistently against his tailbone but choosing to ignore it. “This is MY job,” Sherlock rubbed himself harder against the soft, slippery skin, “I own this piece of arse.”

 

“Horn dog,” Jim elbowed him hard enough to cause pain and make his erection dwindle just a bit, “Not that kind of job. Even if you want to plough my arse you need to wait twenty-four fucking hours because it’s so sore from our last time that half an hour in this hot tub hasn’t made it comfy yet. Okay, no digressing, let me explain what kind of job I have in mind for you. Your job is to be a statue and just stand at a spot, motionless and monitoring the surroundings, letting us leverage the cameras we would fit on to you to take a panoramic view of the hall. Oh, by the way, our main job is to steal a priceless sword from the museum of Istanbul, Turkey.”

 

“Steal?”

 

“Yes. Five letter word. Steal. Like the word thief. Also a five letter word.”

 

“Steal a sword?”

 

“No, we wanna borrow it, take a selfie and give it back. Damn it, why are you being slow?”

 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Sherlock replied in a rather annoyed tone, “I know what stealing means and I have a fair idea about how many thefts you organize a year. I am not looking for a thread of moral superiority here or expressing shock at a planned heist, because I have seen worse already from your stables. What dismays me is why am I playing statue when I could very well steal that sword from the museum. You are talking about the sword of Sultan Hamid Shah Bin Aziz al Turk, right?”

 

Jim let his head fall back on Sherlock’s shoulder, “Mmmm, you smell nice, feel nice. Maybe I could blow you.”

 

“Jimmy don’t.”

 

“How about you fuck my face and cum all over it.”

 

“Not working.”

 

Sherlock wasn’t able to prevent his cock from jerking and Jim noticed that. “It is definitely working,” he grinned and splashed water over Sherlock’s face, “I just have to try harder.”

 

“I want to be the thief,” Sherlock said stubbornly, “I can’t be a prop.”

 

Jim’s expression changed. He went from playful and flirtatious to the cold, hard-hearted and cruel criminal that was as much a part of him as his sing-song playful side. “You are not ready,” he said simply.

 

Sherlock grabbed him and, with a sudden move, turned him around in the spacious tub so he was sitting face to face on Sherlock’s lap, their erections aligned together just under the surface of the water. Their eyes met, each man holding their ground, till Sherlock pulled Jim closer for a harsh, biting, bloodied kiss. When that ended, Jim was swooning with arousal and Sherlock grabbed the opportunity. “I have the plan all chalked out in my head. A famous sword used by a feared conqueror hundreds of years ago, passed on to his son and then on to his other heirs, handle of solid gold with gemstones embedded on it, heavy as a teenaged boy and dangerous as a large cobra with its fangs bared.”

 

“You….are….not…..ready.”

 

“I fucking am. I am readier than I have ever been.”

 

“Uhhh…..”

 

“Now let’s see what we are both ready for?”

 

Jim closed his eyes and arched his back, moaning loudly as Sherlock began to rut against him.

 

***

 

“Mycroft?”

 

“Yes, my boss, Mycroft.”

 

John stared at Anthea in shock, the small tape recorder forgotten between them. “You are firing powerful volleys Anthea,” the doctor admitted, “First you tell me you love Mycroft. That was a shocker. Then you tell me Mycroft loved Jim. That was nothing less than an earthquake and an avalanche combined. Now you tell me Mycroft doesn’t want to find Sherlock. That for me is pure Armageddon. I will never recover from it. But….why would he do that? God, I am so confused, just tell me everything. Don’t leave any details out.”

 

“It’s only a suspicion,” Anthea said, “Listen, I am loyal to my boss and the MI6, for whom I work. But this is something personal and it’s eating him away from the inside. I need to find out what’s going on. The question is, are you willing to help?”

 

“Yes, to find Sherlock, absolutely yes.”

 

“Then we need to do two things. One, we need to listen to the recorded message Sherlock sent to his parents. Map that with the one he sent you so we can trace some patterns or spot some signs, hints and clues that could lead us to him. The second thing is more dangerous though. We need to get into Mycroft’s house where I know he has a safe room. There is a stash of his secret documents and other items there, ones which aren’t for anyone’s eyes but his own. I am not interested in anything else, just his history with Jim.”

 

John shuddered visibly, “You mean break into Myc’s house? Anthea, this could cost you your job and me my relationship with Mycroft. We share a very friendly rapport that based on mutual respect.”

 

“Believe me I am worried about my job too,” Anthea insisted, her voice sharp and solid as a steel blade, “I have worked years to get to this position and I am no longer just Mycroft’s assistant but a leader of a task force. I would hate to lose this. But I am willing to risk it, for Mycroft’s sake. I need to know what really happened between him and Jim and if Jim really died. Every time I bring up Jim’s name, boss just shunts the topic aside as if he never existed. Tell me the truth, in my place wouldn’t you be just as suspicious as I am? What happened really after the incident at Barts rooftop. Why is there no grave for Moriarty in spite of the statement to the press that he had been cremated with full honors.”

 

“You are messing with my brains,” John gripped at his hairs, “Damn!”

 

“Why do we have crimes happening across the world but not in England anymore, all of them pointing to the style of the Magnificent Moriarty? Why did Jim give up England? What happened to his dreaded deputy Sebastian Moran? What was the tradeoff?”

 

“Was Sherlock the tradeoff?” John murmured.

 

“Precisely. What if he was and it was just a delayed payment.”

 

“No, no, no way would Myc do that. He does love Sherlock in his own way.”

 

“Then why is he so cool about Sherlock’s disappearance?”

 

“Yeah, I noticed that too.”

 

Anthea grabbed John’s wrist, “I made my pledge. I said I am willing to go any number of miles, walk to the ends of the earth to help my boss. I am willing to risk everything. The big question here is, are you willing to risk anything at all for your friend Sherlock Holmes?”

 

John felt pulled in different directions. One part of him wanted to wait out a year, with just eight and half months left of it, and let Sherlock come back home. Another part of him was strangely curious about the Mycroft and Jim angle and wanted to know more. Another part was wondering if Sherlock was indeed in danger and if every moment he spent debating this could actually end up compromising Sherlock’s wellbeing in some way.

 

Finally the last part won and he said, “I am willing to risk it all for Sherlock.”

 

***

 

Sherlock stood as still as he could, thanking one of Jim’s men silently for having trained him for two whole weeks on being totally still and statue-like. He was dressed like an ancient Iranian warrior, complete with a wig and full battle gear, with a helmet on and only his eyes and part of the bridge of his nose visible. He had mastered the art of breathing shallow so no sound of respiration came from him, nor did his chest rise and fall visibly with his inhales and exhales. He blinked only once in a full minute and that too so rapidly that nobody would notice it. That was an art he had mastered on his own many years ago, just like his ability to hold his breath for long stretches under water.

 

Once the museum closed and the majority of the guards, workers and all the patrons left, he spoke his first words in four hours. “Target in sight, about twenty feet ahead of me, awaiting instructions.”

 

He had a communication device strapped to him, along with several cameras, and into his right ear was stuffed a small chip like device that enabled him to speak to one of Jim’s men and be instructed by him. “Three levels of security William. We have an invisible ring that can’t be crossed or the alarms would go off and the doors would auto shut down. We have laser beams which trigger sleeping gas and can immobilize you in seconds. Then we have the glass case. It can give you an electric shock nasty enough to rattle your brains in their cage and make you a vegetable for one week. In any of these cases, you will end up being arrested.”

 

“Then we have to innovate.”

 

“Listen, that’s not the boss’s orders.”

 

“He changed them. He told me to innovate. Last minute change.”

 

“What? I don’t have any word from him…..”

 

“Bye for now….”

 

Sherlock disconnected the device and took out a small remote-controlled motorcycle from his pocket. On that he had stuffed a human finger he had procured from a fresh cadaver. Enough to notify the dumb security system to think a real human had crossed the ‘do not cross’ line.

 

As soon as the motorcycle crossed that line, alarms went off and the doors started to shut down. Sherlock didn’t panic. Instead he stood stock still till the doors had all closed before he quickly went to a small alcove in the wall where emergency supplies were kept. Pulling out a mask and a small oxygen tank, he strapped it on and shed off his armor. Much easier, lighter, easy to move around that way.

 

The laser line was soon breached and the gas poured in, but Sherlock remained unaffected. Only one line of security remained between him and the prized sword. The glass case whose walls could give an electric shock strong enough to kill a child, render a woman brain dead and a healthy man permanently damaged in the brains.

 

Sherlock grinned and aimed his gun at the large chandelier dangling on top of the glass case that held the sword, the one where several security cameras were installed. As the huge thing descended on the case, it dislodged the case and shattered part of it. Since it was no human contact, no waves of powerful electricity were triggered and part of the broken glass case gave the detective-turned-thief a small and quick window to grab the sword. Sherlock grinned behind his mask and took out a fishing rod, using it to hook the sword and pull it out. He held it in his hands, a proud grin on his face, when it occurred to him that the gates were being opened again.

 

Of course the security team wouldn’t be sucking their thumbs with so many activities going on inside the hall.

 

Sherlock slid into the adjacent chamber and made for the window. It was a sheer drop, about thirty feet below.

 

“Pleasepleaseplease, be on time,” he prayed fervently.

 

A split second later a tall eighteen-wheeler truck moved slowly past the lane behind the museum. Sherlock felt fear grip his heart for a moment before the sheer adrenalin of the whole heist kicked in and he jumped.

 

A soft springy mattress caught him and broke his fall about seventeen feet beneath. Perfect timing.

 

Sherlock found himself smiling at the mayhem, sounds of alarms, gunshots and screeches from the museum building while the truck ambled along the lane and took a turn on the main road, moving further and further away from the scene. Somewhere down the road, away from the street cameras, Sherlock leveraged the tiny window he had to change vehicles and jumped on the roof of a Toyota Highlander.

 

Using the sun roof he got inside and quickly started to change into his normal clothes. He threw everything he had been wearing before, including his gloves and underwear, into a cloth bag and handed it to a man who leapt out of the car as it slowed down at a corner.

 

“Those will be burned,” Sherlock said triumphantly as he climbed into the passenger seat next to the driver, “There are no trails, all trails will run cold even if they pick up an initial scent. I played their own security system against them and pulled this off. Here, your sword, just as I had promised you two weeks ago. Hope you will trust me with actual jobs now and not as a lackey standing by and watching.”

 

Jim simply turned and snarled, “You still needed help moron. You risked the lives and security of six of my men and I had to get involved too, just so I could shoot you in case you led them right to us. A perfect theft also means a perfect escape with no additional hands required.”

 

Sherlock deflated like a balloon shot by a dart. His shoulders slumped and even though anger boiled inside him because of that dismissive remark from Jim, he admitted to himself that the escape route he had designed for himself was a touch and go and could easily swing either ways. But he knew Jim wasn’t there to shoot him in case things went wrong. The way Jim’s hands shook when he first entered the Highlander gave ample evidence of how tense the man was. But then….why would he need to be tense? This was a prized artifact but a botched-up job wouldn’t have impacted Jim and his gang much, would it? It was Sherlock who’d be arrested, exposed and deported to England.

 

Then it struck him.

 

“You were worried about me.”

 

“Yeah sure,” Jim snapped, driving one handed and gesticulating with the other, “Get caught, blabber about me and get my arse in trouble too.”

 

“You do realize nobody would have believed me. I have no proof.”

 

“Doesn’t matter. It still makes people suspicious.”

 

“Jim they think you are dead.”

 

“You would be too, if you had missed the truck.”

 

“I didn’t,” Sherlock kept a steady eye on the criminal, “Even if I did, it would have wiped the slate clean for you. You’d have nothing to fear.”

 

Jim caught Sherlock’s hoodie with his free hand and shook him hard, “I didn’t get you half way across the world, train you like a house dog and get you a shiny new collar just so you’d throw it all away and run in front of a bus on the street. I was protecting my investment.”

 

Sherlock kept looking and smirking. “What now?” Jim snapped again at him, eyes ignited with anger and irritation.

 

“Here is the sword,” he handed the item to Jim who touched it and motioned with his hand for Sherlock to keep it on the backseat.

 

“Don’t fall in love with me Sherlock,” Jim made a chilling declaration and changed lanes.

 

***

 

John knew Mycroft was out of town. He knew Anthea had set up a tracker on a handheld device she had which would start beeping the moment anyone came even within twenty meters of the house. Still he felt the hair stand up on the back of his head when Anthea pushed aside a bookcase and revealed a wall that clearly looked like a ‘false wall’. She looked for buttons here and there while John stood stock-still, wishing he wasn’t here. What if Mycroft had some camera inside his house, one which his assistant wasn’t aware of and hadn’t disabled? What if Mycroft stopped talking to him and later Sherlock also got cross with him for this daring act?

 

“Here,” Anthea exclaimed softly, “This little hook. Looks like a switch but is a hook, a lever…..”

 

A harsh, metallic sound came and the wall shifted to reveal a door behind it. “It can only be opened by a code and somehow I have found that code,” Anthea said with a satisfied smile, “Being the boss’s closest aide can work wonders sometimes. There is nothing you can’t find if you dig into the archives of your work history. It was me who negotiated with the builders of this safe room and even though I had never seen where it was, I do remember the code they gave the boss back then. I hope he hasn’t changed it thus far.”

 

“Hardly possible he wouldn’t have,” John mumbled.

 

Anthea tried a combination and immediately pressed a button, sighing with relief. Nothing happened, the door didn’t even budge. “What?” John asked.

 

“Gotta be swift as a hare. If we enter the wrong code an alarm will be set off here, at Scotland Yard and one on the boss’s cell phone. To nullify that input I had to press the delete button.”

 

“So that was the wrong code?”

 

“Yes he changed it. It was supposed to be Queenandcountry5&6*#*2009. That was the year he got an OBE from the Queen and of course 5&6 stands for MI5 and MI6.*#* stands for eyes and a game of tic tac toe, which he often likened to the way intelligence services were run.”

 

John sighed, “Something more significant must have happened to him since then. But what?”

 

Anthea perked up, “I think I know.”

 

She punched in something and the door opened with the faintest of ‘clangs’. She turned around with a strangely sad look and said, “Now I know something else too.”


	22. The Tattoo and the Cabinet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets tumble out of the closets

After making that rather impactful statement, Anthea didn’t utter a single more word. “What?” John asked, on his toes by now.

 

Anthea sighed, “You’ll see more proof inside this I suppose. So I shall hold my horses till then, just in case I am wrong.”

 

They stepped inside and the motion sensor lights switched on. John looked around, slightly dazzled by the brightness, and saw a reasonably large room with a comfortable bed, two bunk beds, a desk and three chairs, a couch, a television, a fridge, an oven, an attached toilet and several trunks, boxes and cabinets. It was very well set up and stocked for someone to last a whole month if need be. There was food, medicines, entertainment, water, alcohol, cigarettes, books and magazines, every item of comfort and necessity that one would need if one was cut off from the rest of the world.

 

“There,” Anthea pointed.

 

“What?” John asked, “The toilet seat?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I mean the wall mounted cabinet above it.”

“Oh yes! Who puts a cabinet above a toilet seat?”

 

“Exactly. Everything in this safe room is just what I expected it to be, aside from that cabinet. That was specially created by boss. I wonder why.”

 

They walked closer and opened the cabinet. There was nothing inside, just empty shelves.

 

Anthea’s disappointment was palpable. She shook her head and let out a snarl of frustration before turning away and heading back into the room. John on the other hand noticed something on the wall behind the shelves and stopped her, grabbing her arm. “Anthea wait, don’t give up yet. I think I spotted something. You were right, this is where we might find the valuable information or clue we are looking for. This is what Sherlock used to call ‘hiding things in plain sight’.”

 

John pushed the lever which, from a distance, looked like a scar on the wood.

 

There was a creaking sound and the cabinet wall moved, revealing a safe inside. “Not another safe,” John did a facepalm.

 

“Wait,” Anthea stepped forward, “Knowing boss well, I know he uses the same password for all his online accounts. Chances are that every safe or combination lock or number lock in this room would have the same code. Let me try this.”

 

She punched in a code and the sound of a catch pulling back came through. The moment John twisted the handle of the safe, it opened smoothly. “Yesss,” the doctor said, “You did it Anthea.”

 

“Let’s look inside,” she said, sounding a little uneasy.

 

John would have asked her why she’d not allow them a moment’s victory when his eyes fell on a bunch of photographs, half peeking out of a large brown cloth envelope. His eyes bulged out of their sockets and his hands shook hard. They were various photographs of Jim Moriarty. There he was, staring right back at the camera with the trademark mischievous smile. In another one he was standing in the middle of the pool, wet hairs slicked back, holding aloft a cocktail glass. In yet another one he was lying in bed, reading a magazine and flipping the birdie at the photographer.

 

“God, this is so confusing,” John sighed, frustrated at not understanding the situation, “What is this? Why are these photographs here? Was he keeping an eye on Moriarty?”

 

“John, try to understand,” Anthea said, “If Mycroft Holmes needed to keep an eye on Moriarty and these pics were taken by his surveillance team or cameras, Moriarty wouldn’t have struck a pose in any of them. These are timed shots, not candid shots. Also, once Moriarty was gone why would he keep these photographs with himself, that too in a safe inside his safe room?”

 

The lightbulb moment happened and John’s mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to gather his thoughts and speak lucidly. “I am beginning to get this now,” he confessed, “This is a room where he feels the safest, this is his haven, his refuge, therefore anything here is absolutely essential for his survival. Along with the pics of Moriarty, other items inside the safe include items he had inherited, like this expensive Daytona watch, loads of cash, some diamonds and gold coins, lifesaving drugs, a diary filled with national security secrets, devices he would need, a communication system that enables him to send distress signals out, his medal from the Queen and the certificates he received from the Prime Minister and the Mayor of London.”

 

“In other words, all that is precious to him,” Anthea said, looking crestfallen.

 

“That means Jim is precious to Mycroft???” John couldn’t believe his own ears as he said that aloud.

 

“Obviously.”

“He fancies Jim?”

 

“On the contrary, it’s not just a one sided fascination. I think they had an affair.”

 

“How are you so sure?”

 

Anthea replied in a pained voice, “The new code was PrinceJamesMagpie2303143.”

 

John had worked long enough with Sherlock to read into such codes. He took a few seconds but answered perfectly. “I know what you mean. Of course Magpie is the nickname, James is the name, Prince is an affectionate prefix and 143 stands for the number of letters in the words ‘I love you’. As for 2303 my guess is that it’s Moriarty’s birthday. Sherlock had once told me he was Aries by birth and born in March so this sort of adds up perfectly in my mind.” He paused and massaged his temples, “Too much and too heavy an information to process quickly. Give me a few seconds.”

 

“I need a few of them too,” Anthea leaned against the wall, “I am seeing everything upside down now.”

 

“Those pics, they had been retained because Myc took them. These were taken voluntarily, like a friend would pose for a friend.”

 

“Or lover.”

 

“Whoa!”

 

“You don’t put security codes and sensitive number combinations after the names and birthdays of your friends,” Anthea said, “Besides, I know how many friends my boss has. Not many and none of them are close.”

 

“There are more pics,” John reached inside, “Oh fuck, best if we don’t look.”

 

Anthea turned beetroot red and gasped, “Holy…..”

 

A naked Jim half covered by pristine white sheets, plenty of white limbs and a hint of his arse showing, and blowing a condom like a balloon.

 

***

 

“What the hell!!!”

 

Sherlock gasped and cursed!

 

He had fallen asleep in bed after waiting a solid two hours for Jim to join him. Somehow Jim’s mood had been sour since they had returned from the heist at the museum and despite several efforts at appeasing him, Sherlock had failed to get a response. Now Jim had not just joined him in bed but was also naked and grinding down on his arse. Sherlock had formed the habit of sleeping naked a long time ago but never had he been woken up like this, pinned against the bed and his lover sliding his hard cock against the crack of his butt. “Shhhh Sherlock,” Jim whispered in a slightly manic voice, “Go back to sleep.”

 

“How the fuck can I do that when you’re…ohhhh!”

 

“Such an eager slut, so bloody eager for my cock huh?” Jim growled and started grinding down even harder on Sherlock, his balls slapping against the Englishman’s lily white arse cheeks. The detective opened his mouth to protest but another loud moan came out of it when the blunt head of Jim’s cock started to move up and down his crack and repeatedly nudge at the tiny holed in the center. To his dismay he found his cock begin to harden and soon that turned into a stiff rod that leaked and throbbed with every rub against the sheets below. Sherlock felt shudders sweep through his body as he involuntarily moved his hips, giving his rigid manhood more friction.

 

“Jim stop,” Sherlock said feebly, “Not like this.”

 

“I don’t care what you want.”

 

“Please Jim,” Sherlock whined, “I want you to fuck me.”

 

“Or you want to fuck me?”

 

“I…ehm….I….”

 

“Haven’t you fucked me enough this evening? You made me risk it all to save your arse. Now I will use it whichever way I wish to.”

 

A temporary burst of anger made Sherlock snap back, “Isn’t sex supposed to be a two-way thing between two people? Or are we not bothered about consent any longer? You want to rape me, is it?”

 

“Don’t worry Sherlylocks,” Jim gave a slightly diabolical laughter, then spoke in an American ‘gangsta’ voice, “It ain’t gonna be rape.”

 

Sherlock wasn’t even sure what Jim meant but soon he figured it all out. Jim was rutting against him in pure need, rubbing and sliding his cock up and down Sherlock’s arse crack and using the detective’s back to rub his front and get some friction to his sensitive nipples. The more he rubbed, the faster the moved, the more excited and noisy Jim became. While Sherlock was initially turned on by that, he soon realized to his dismay that Jim intended to finish that way. It alarmed him instantly and he cried out.

 

“Jimmy no, not like this, stop.”

 

Jim didn’t stop. Instead he sped up. His breath was hot on Sherlock’s ear as he sucked the lobe.

 

“Jim no, stop I said……”

 

“Uhnnnn……ohhhhhh!”

 

Jim was shaking like a leaf and his perfect rhythm had been reduced to a near animalistic rut. He was in a stupor, a sort of pre-orgasmic daze and Sherlock doubted if even an earthquake would have stopped him at this point. Suddenly Jim made a convulsive movement and Sherlock’s arse hole was coated with slippery warmth, part of which trickled down his perineum and balls. It was so sudden and unexpected that Sherlock was left motionless and stunned for a few moments and he made no efforts to stop Jim or ensure he had pleasured himself enough to experience a similar release. Did Jim just do that? It seemed a bit spiteful. Or was it just bed games between them?

 

He came back to his senses when he felt Jim’s weight shift and suddenly a thud next to him made him aware that his lover had moved off his body and tumbled down on the mattress. The sticky sensation down below was uncomfortable now and so was his throbbing dick that demanded, or rather, cried out for release. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink tonight until and unless he managed to find the blissful tiredness and peaceful afterglow of a voluptuous orgasm.

 

To his dismay, Jim simply curled up on his other side and prepared to go off to sleep.

 

Sherlock sat up straight, “What is this?”

 

“Ummmfff……good night, go to sleep.”

 

“I can’t. I need to cum.”

 

“I already have.”

 

“But I haven’t.”

 

“Well, jerk off then. Many men do that. Do it your own way, just like you did with the whole sword thing.”

 

The pun in those words was lost on Sherlock who felt angry, frustrated, disappointed, dismayed and even a little bit hurt. How could Jim treat him like this? With a visible pout on his lips he mumbled, “I can’t do this with you right next to me. It’s a different thing when we are apart.”

 

“Hard luck then. I need to sleep.”

 

Sherlock didn’t want to argue any further and compromise his dignity. If Jim could be so heartless then he could also be ruthless and uncaring. He didn’t need Jim to pleasure himself.

 

Bad idea, he realized in a while. Bad, bad, bad idea!

 

Twenty minutes had passed and orgasm was just not possible. Not alone. Not without Jim.

 

He tried his best to cum and find that sleep that was pulling at him and yet not willing to embrace him. He tried to use his right hand, then his left, then both but nothing was as good as Jim’s touch, his arse or his mouth. He added more lube to facilitate the movements but while the excitement continued and lingered, it didn’t reach the climax that was so close and yet so far. Sherlock even tried to rut against the bed, tried to do it the way Jim had done, but there was a difference between a warm body and cold, dry sheets. He felt frustrated and helpless.

 

Finally, after almost half an hour of trying, he could take it no more. He could smell the man he wanted, feel his warmth next to him, hear his breathing and still not touch him or caress him, that was pure torture. With his last remaining dignity slowly slipping away from him, he made the request in a very small voice that even his ears fail to recognize as his own. “Jimmy, please let me, please help me out man!”

 

This time Jim relented.

 

He rolled over and spread his legs, lying face down on the bed.

 

When Sherlock squirted some lube on his opening, Jim stopped him from using his fingers and whispered, “Do it. I want to feel you tonight.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Pretty damned sure!”

 

Sherlock climbed over Jim and slid inside, his cock slippery enough with lube to slide right in. But the lack of preparation meant Jim was very tight and Sherlock’s eyes rolled to the back of his head with pleasure. It felt so good!

 

Both of them groaned out when the sleuth had slid all the way in and the connection was complete. Jim pushed back with anticipation and Sherlock began to move instantly. He pulled out till only the head dipped inside and then slammed right back in, making Jim move several inches on the bed. He repeated the same movement at an angle and Jim howled. His prostate had been hit dead on.

 

Sherlock kept fucking him, dizzy with sensations, till Jim suddenly tensed up and shuddered hard. Then contractions began around his cock and he could no longer hold back the hurricane of release that spread through his loins and shoot like a torpedo to the tip of his cock.

 

“Fuck JIM….Jimmy oh fuck!”

 

Sherlock came hard enough to forget everything aside from the blissful feeling of being buried in Jim’s tight heat and warmth spreading out of his manhood and flooding Jim’s still contracting channel. Jim let out a soft sexy moan and pushed back slightly, drawing Sherlock in so deep that the detective felt like he’d disappear inside the man.

 

They lay like that for a long time till the connection snapped with a muted sensation. Jim felt empty and Sherlock felt alone. He hugged Jim extra tight but unlike other times Jim didn’t push him off or complain about his weight. He simply lay there and basked in that warm embrace.

 

“Let’s clean up,” Sherlock said after a while, a trifle embarrassed at the way things had happened. He had come across as needy and whinging and perhaps a little dependent. Forget what Jim would think of him, Sherlock himself wasn’t proud of this discovery that _he too_ could be _dependent_ at times. Fierce independence was one of his stalwart principles in life. Sheepish and awkward, he padded to the bathroom and washed his cock before returning with a towel he had dampened on one side with some water, keeping the other side dry. He wiped Jim down and cleaned his thighs and crack, bending down to press sucking kisses to the two arse-cheeks.

 

“Nnnoooo,” Jim said, sweet and dozy now, “I wanna sleep.”

 

Sherlock felt a sense of déjà vu as he stared at the tattoo. This time he looked at it very closely and noticed that there was a very faint little design at the bottom right hand corner of the tattoo. No, not a design, it was initials. He leaned in further and read it carefully.

 

‘EMC’

 

EMC, as in the website that stored regulated information about medicines? Or EMC, the IT transformation company that had been purchased by Dell Corporation and was now Dell EMC? Or was it the initials of someone Jim knew or a mantra Jim believed in?

 

“Jimmy?”

 

“Mmmm?”

 

“Jimmy wake up.”

 

“Hmmfff what?”

 

“Who asked you to get this tattoo? Please, I need to know. It’s been a few months now and you’re not sassing me with a smartass response.”

 

Jim turned over and held out his arms, “C’mere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next updates for any of the current series I am posting will happen post June 6th. I will be on vacation till then. See ya soon!


	23. The Big Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gets cornered and truths tumble out

Sherlock did as he was told, casting the towel aside and crawling over to lie down next to his lover, who promptly wrapped him up in his arms. As they lay coiled up together, Sherlock’s head on Jim’s shoulder, the Irishman finally admitted to the truth about the tattoo. “It was a former lover and sexual partner. He didn’t ask me to get this tattoo though.” Jim paused, as if thinking through the next words of his response, then added, “He made it for me. I mean he is the one who created the tattoo.”

 

Sherlock tensed up and gritted his teeth so hard he nearly broke his jaw. Jim immediately said, “I didn’t want to discuss this. Why do you have to discuss it when you can’t handle the answers?”

 

“You know what bothers me Jim,” Sherlock had to get it off his chest, “It’s not so much about someone else who had you before me. If they truly loved you and still act like a guardian angel, aka Sebastian Moran, then I can reconcile myself to the reality that yes, you had someone in your life before we met or decided to spend this year together. But when I see all this evidence, that man in Norway, this tattoo which an ex-lover crafted on your private parts, I sometimes wonder how easily you move on. Maybe at this point of time next year, you’ll be lying in bed with someone else and talking about a fool named Sherlock Holmes.”

 

This time Jim tensed.

 

“What about you then? Lie in John’s arms and compare him with me?”

 

Sherlock frowned. Did Jim sound jealous or irritated? He couldn’t decide but he was sure Jim also had emotions bubbling beneath a seemingly serene surface.

 

“I admit being attracted to John at the beginning. But our attraction isn’t sexual Jim. He is not really gay. And let me tell you something, this year of mine belongs to you. When it ends I will store it in my mind palace. It’s not some journal that will be read aloud to other people.”

 

Jim was quiet for a long time. Sherlock would have assumed he had slept but his breathing pattern indicated wakefulness. He was nowhere close to dozing off.

 

“You know why I let Sebastian go? You know why he agreed to go?”

 

“No Jim.”

 

“Sebastian was the first person who made me feel worthy. For all they say about me, I was very insecure when it came to relationships. I never thought I was stable enough, affable enough to be loved and wanted. Loads of people wanted to have sex with me, work with me, be in my good books, be on my arm as I walked into a ballroom, but none of them were there when I had dark episodes of self-doubt. It was only Sebastian who stood by me like a rock.”

 

“If your intention is to make me feel jealous all over again, then you have succeeded,” Sherlock couldn’t hide his contempt, “Congratulations.”

 

“Ohhh my jealous little one,” Jim had a sing-song undertone to his voice, “If this makes you feel any better, it was only because I returned Sebastian’s feelings and fell in love with him that we had to eventually part. Technically I had to push him away to keep him safe and he had to stay away to keep me safe. It didn’t turn out well for either of us, did it?”

 

Sherlock let out a noisy exhale and tightened his hold around Jim. Almost instantly Jim began to card his fingers through Sherlock’s hairs, massaging his scalp slightly in a soothing, calming gesture. After resisting for a few minutes, Sherlock relaxed in his lover’s embrace and kissed the part of Jim’s chest that was closest to his mouth. “I was given a choice between staying alive and getting my freedom and sending Sebastian away from me. I could have taken a risk and decided to grab it all, my freedom and life, Sebastian’s freedom and life, our relationship, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It would have killed me to lose Sebastian because of a gamble I took. So I sent him away.”

 

“He went away willingly?”

 

“No. He was adamant on not going.”

 

“Then?”

 

“Finally he did that to protect me, to serve my interest.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“At this point I don’t intend that you should. Go to sleep Sherly. It’s late and I am tired.”

 

Sherlock hadn’t imagined that he’d be able to sleep in this situation. He was curious, jealous, tense, confused, puzzled, disturbed and a lot of other things. How could anyone sleep in such a state of mind?

 

But those fingers kept working their magic and Sherlock fell asleep next to Jim’s open eyes.

 

***

 

Mycroft knew the moment he entered his ‘flat’ that something was wrong. He was not alone, he could sense the presence of visitors. Visitors who were not enemies. Visitors who had been waiting for him. He was expected there.

 

“Hello Myc.”

 

Mycroft decided to be a sport and greeted John back with a smile and nod, noting Anthea next to him, then Greg Lestrade and finally Mrs. Eugenia Holmes. It was mummy Holmes who managed to give Mycroft a slight sinking feeling in the belly. Everyone else he would be able to handle but his beloved mummy was another kettle of fish altogether. If she was involved then the matter had to be serious.

 

“How did you all even know I own this flat?” He asked, coolly setting down his bags and hanging up his coat before proceeding to store his precious umbrella. A small shocker came when Mrs. Hudson made an appearance from the kitchen, wheeling a trolley with several cups of tea on it.

 

John was about to speak when Mrs. Eugenia Holmes shushed him with a look. The good doctor stepped back and Mummy Holmes took the lead. “Mycroft, I wish your daddy was also here but he’s gone to deliver a few lectures at Cambridge and won’t be available till Monday. Anyways, I just got to know that three years ago you were in a relationship with a dangerous criminal mastermind, the same man who had tried to kill your younger brother. I also got to know that this man might be alive, all thanks to you. And….this part is the most disturbing….you knew that Sherlock had a soft corner for this very man….Jim Moriarty…..and you never told him your past with him.”

 

Mycroft sighed, “How did you guys find out I’ll be coming here instead of my other house?”

 

“I told them boss,” Anthea raised her arm, looking slightly scared of her boss but holding her ground nonetheless, “I had to. For a whole month you’ve eluded us. You wouldn’t see us, meet us, talk to us, all I got were instructions about work and everyone else here simply got texts saying you were traveling. People reached out to me and when I realized you were living out of this flat, a property you had secretly acquired but never informed anyone about, I decided to let your well-wishers, your friends and family know.”

 

“Well,” Mycroft said, “I wish you’d keep personal and professional matters apart.”

 

“Mycroft!!!” Mrs. Holmes was appalled.

 

“I know John and Anthea broke into my house and searched my safe.”

 

“Mycroft there are bigger explanations needed here than this silly query about ‘how we got to know you own this flat’. Can you at least tell us if Sherlock has been kidnapped by Moriarty? Is Moriarty alive?”

 

Mycroft shrugged, “I have no idea where Sherlock is. Neither do I know where Moriarty is.”

 

John immediately shot back, “So he wasn’t six feet under. Why Mycroft? Why did he fake his death and how much of a hand did you have in it?”

 

Greg Lestrade spoke up, “Guys please don’t corner Myc. We wanted this to be a peaceful chat.”

 

Mycroft gave Greg a thankful look and said, “I don’t owe anyone an explanation here, aside from my mum probably. But I do understand John would need to know some things too, as would daddy. So, in case you want me to open up and give answers, I would have to request an audience only with my mum and with John. The rest can take an update later from them.”

 

“This sounds fair,” Greg said, “You don’t have to tell everyone everything.”

 

“Thanks Greg, thanks for understanding,” Mycroft said with a brief nod at him, “Mum, John, shall we?” Mycroft pointed towards the study/home-office he maintained at the flat and Eugenia and John followed him there while the rest waited in the sitting room, picking up their cups of tea and the cookies Mrs. Hudson had served. The elder Holmes sibling closed the study door behind him and pointed at two chairs. “Please sit down as this will take a while, I am sure you’ll have lots of questions too.” Eugenia and John looked at each other before taking their seats on the desk chairs while Mycroft perched on a separate Edwardian chair.

 

“Okay,” John said, “We are waiting.”

 

“Just tell me one thing Myc,” Mrs. Holmes asked, “Do you love this Moriarty?”

 

Mycroft looked at his open palms. “I guess I don’t have a love line mum. People who claim to love me only like my position, power and money. The only one I loved didn’t love me back. So, I guess it doesn’t matter whether I love James Moriarty, what matters is do I know where he is? I do not. Did I know if Sherlock was in love with James? No, I was not really sure even though I was aware they had taken an acute interest in each other. Do I know whether Sherlock was kidnapped by James, no I can’t say. From Sherlock’s postcards, gifts, letters, it doesn’t seem he is any kind of distress.”

 

Eugenia gave him an arrow straight look, “What happened three years ago? Tell me everything.”

 

John added in a determined tone, “And everything means, every single thing.”

 

***

 

_3 years earlier_

 

_“NOOOO,” Sebastian yelled, “Jim what have you done?”_

_Jim looked upset. “Trying to save your arse,” he huffed out in an annoyed tone, “Just like you’d have done had it been me tied to that chair with Mycroft and his men holding a gun to my temple. What did you expect? That I’d stay hidden and count the days till they sent you back to me piece by piece. These guys don’t have the bloody guts to do anything unless they are in a pack but when they are in a pack, they can be lethal. I’ve been there so I know how it feels.”_

_“There-there-there,” Mycroft said in a sugary but dangerous tone, “Mr. James Isaac Moriarty aka Jim aka Colonel Moran’s Jim-Jim finally makes an appearance. I must say my gamble finally paid off. After losing six of my men and women who I’d sent into your gang, your web, as molls the seventh one managed to make a breakthrough. Thanks to him I got to your second-in-command and voila, I got to know Jim Moriarty has feelings as well!!! Just a few scratches on this blond hunk and Moriarty drives down to my secret facility, doesn’t even wait for me to send a car or something. Just how deep does this relationship run, eh James?”_

_“None of your fucking business,” Jim roared, “I am here so let him go.”_

_Mycroft looked pleased, “I am not a man with impulse controls problems, therefore, I am not one to take hasty decisions pu…..I mean um James. If we are to release the colonel we must strike a deal, a deal that works for us both in the long run. You might be in my claws today but it won’t take you more than twenty-four hours to put me in your own jaws. Like I said, I don’t take quick and unplanned decisions, especially when the adversary is truly worthy, like yourself. Now, what kind of price are you willing to pay for your sniper? Or is he now your chief of staff, or deputy, or lieutenant?”_

_Jim snorted, “The only part that impressed me was your declaration that I am a worthy opponent. Other than that, I fucking care two hoots about what you say or think. Let Seb go or else I will……”_

_“Don’t lose your cool. You definitely do realize that for this moment I am at a position of advantage.”_

_“Just as you realize that I can reverse our positions in less than a day.”_

_“You can. But in less than one hour your pet can be dead.”_

_“He is NOT my pet.”_

_“Oh! I thought that was the term you used for any live-in. Like for John Watson.”_

_“Mycroft Holmes, I will chew off that smug grin off your face.”_

_Jim advanced threateningly at the MI6 boss, looking threatening and dangerous. One of Mycroft’s men reacted at that and tried to push him back, only to be suddenly brought down to his knees and held at knife point. The man hissed with pain as the tip of the knife drew blood. Everyone gasped and some guns were raised but a firm ‘NO’ from Mycroft made them lower their weapons as quickly as they had raised them._

_“Jim NO, get outta here,” Sebastian insisted, “I’ll find a way out too, GO. Just go, PLEASE.”_

_“Not without you,” Jim yelled._

_Mycroft was watching the exchange with a strange curiosity playing in his narrowed eyes. He tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on Jim’s face, and suddenly said, “I think we should have a chat in private James. One to one. Man to man. What say?”_

_Jim looked around and eyed all the armed men and women, then stared at Sebastian, then turned his gaze at Mycroft. Slowly he seemed to realize that wisdom lay in cooperation rather than rebellion this time. A swift change of demeanor and he was beside the MI6 boss in a flash, looking rather friendly as he said ‘lead the way’. Mycroft raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything as he turned on his heel and walked out of the large interrogation cell, Jim walking close on his heels. As they reached the door, Jim turned and mouthed ‘I will be back soon’ to Sebastian and walked out of the door._

_Once in a private room that was surprisingly luxurious, Mycroft shut the door and bolted it. Jim immediately turned around, “You’re stupid. Why would you do that? Without your men and their weapons you don’t stand a chance against me, get that?”_

_“No, I am anything but stupid,” Mycroft replied with a smirk, “You know this place is under surveillance and constant watch. If you do anything to me, anything at all, your sniper will bear the brunt of your actions.”_

_Jim scowled, “Thanks to him, you’re safe. For now. But unlock that door, we are not a married couple on our honeymoon.”_

_“We could be pumpkin.”_

_“I am not going to….wait, what? You called me what?”_

_“I almost called you that when we were out there. Bit back my words at the right time.”_

_Mycroft had the pleasure of watching the great and invincible Jim Moriarty’s jaw drop. “Yeah, I used to call you pumpkin during those days huh?”_

_Jim didn’t answer but they both knew Mycroft was talking about Jim’s days in preventive custody, or unofficial arrest, as Mycroft called it. The elder Holmes would often call him ‘pumpkin’ but Jim had never thought of that nickname as an affectionate one, or one indicative of any feelings or desires in his heart. Mycroft was the cold, insensitive Iceman, incapable of thawing even if someone scorching hot turned up naked at his doorstep._

_Realization and a bit of fear, yes fear, pooled in Jim’s beautiful doe eyes. “What do you want from me Holmes?” He asked curtly._

_“Isn’t it obvious?”_

_“One fuck and all this is behind us?”_

_“No, one fuck and many more after that. I want something entirely different.”_

_Jim instinctively stepped away from Mycroft but the Iceman reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him closer. Their chests collided and for the first time Jim felt as if he didn’t know the tall imposing man who was holding him in a crushing hug against his chest. Mycroft’s breath was hot on his face, the scent of his aftershave filled his nostrils and he could even hear the dull heartbeat in the older man’s ribcage. “You can’t rape me, you’re not man enough for that,” Jim challenged him defiantly but he didn’t try to escape that hug or push Mycroft away. He merely struggled a bit to free himself._

_Mycroft held him tighter, “You’re clever. You know when not to push your luck.”_

_“What the fuck do you need from me?” Jim sneered._

_“You really want to know? You want to bargain and negotiate it out?”_

_“Yeah. What else am I here for? To spread my legs for you?”_

_“Don’t say that pumpkin,” Mycroft spoke in a tone of warning, “Getting me angry will not work in your favor. You have faked your death and started a new life, a new web, a new line of work that is both organized crime and legitimate business. It will take me only days to bring it all down if I expose your identity and your client list. In the whole process even your poor sniper will suffer. If I were you I’d quietly accept my plan.”_

_“What plan?” Jim said and yelped when Mycroft lifted him off his feet._

_“Work for me, live with me, be my boy,” Mycroft stated, unhesitant._

_Jim’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth but quickly closed it again. He had also stopped struggling for freedom. “Think over it quickly pumpkin,” Mycroft said, “I can protect your new life, I can give you a new identity, the security blanket you need as you start anew.”_

_“Isn’t this room under surveillance?” Jim asked, looking around, “How are MI6 agents enjoying the show?”_

_“No cameras inside this room. You didn’t think I would be so careless would I? Nobody but I can feast my eyes on this beautiful body.”_

_Jim looked dismayed for a mere moment before he was back to his shrewd and calculating self again. “Fair enough,” he said, “I accept. But I want Seb to be freed and some of my terms and conditions to be accepted in advance. Only then I’ll allow you to see me naked.”_


	24. The magpie escapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft fools his mum but not John Watson

_“Are you going to do anything at all or will you just keep staring at me?”_

_Jim’s annoyed tone didn’t bother Mycroft who was simply gaping at the sight of Jim lying naked in his bed, his slightly tanned skin a lovely contrast to the pristine white sheets, his dark hairs spread out like a coronet around his head and softly caressing the silk pillow cover._

_“Beautiful,” gasped the elder Holmes, feasting his eyes finally on the incredibly gorgeousness that was Jim Moriarty. He was everything Mycroft looked for in a man, medium height and slender build, almost like a teenaged boy’s physique. Large beautiful eyes and full lips. Good bone structure and silky soft dark hairs, freckles peppering his smooth skin, an overall boyish charm mixed with the sensuality of a minx. Jim was unconventional not just in his behavior and intellect but also his looks and charm and Mycroft liked him all the more for that. Normal, routine attractiveness never did much for him. Jim’s quirky persona and unusual but captivating looks did the trick._

_The Iceman was ready to melt._

_“I don’t suppose you’re a virgin like your baby brother,” Jim taunted, clearly not afraid or worried now that Sebastian had been set free._

_Mycroft did a facepalm, “Taking my brother’s name just as we are about to have sex? That’s such a turnoff.”_

_“Not for me,” Jim said wickedly, hoping to make Mycroft jealous._

_As it turned out, Mycroft was not jealous or envious, he was simply possessive and controlling. He caressed Jim’s stomach and thighs with one of his hands and carded the fingers of the other hand through those soft, shiny locks. “You will NOT talk or think about my brother James. As per our agreement yesterday, you belong to me now. You will only think of me, desire me, work with me, live with me and be my partner. That will be your future, our future.”_

_Jim seemed shaken for the first time, “You can’t ask me to stop thinking about Sherlock.”_

_“Then I will make you forget Sherlock.”_

_“Mycroft I…..”_

_“Shhhh sweet! Let daddy show you tricks. If you’re a good boy you get to suck on a lollipop.”_

_Jim’s eyes widened, as if he couldn’t reconcile himself to the fact that Mycroft could be such a horny, manipulative and possessive bag of shit. Still, he found himself watching curiously and lasciviously as Mycroft stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed with him, stark naked._

_Mycroft didn’t pounce on Jim. At first he simply picked him up, caressed him and dandled him like a doll. Then his hands caressed the slim body all over, as if he couldn’t believe he was finally going to sleep with Jim Moriarty. Criminal genius, most dangerous man in London, now his boy._

_Soon his lips began to follow the movements of his hands and the pendant he wore on a chain around his neck began to trail softly on Jim’s goose bumps covered flesh. After a long moment of holding it back, Jim let out a moan._

_Mycroft smiled against his skin and continued his exploration as Jim’s body undulated and jerked and shuddered to the touches and kisses. His toes curled and he fisted the sheets he was lying on, raising his hips a few times to get friction on his hardening cock. He had never relinquished controls to this extent and felt vulnerable, open and raw. His first instinct was to run but since that wasn’t an option, he tried to get his lover to get to the real thing. But Mycroft was also used to being in control and didn’t allow Jim to take over or force him into any action. He grabbed Jim’s hands and pinned them to the sides as he dipped his tongue in the Irishman’s navel, making him moan louder._

_The Iceman licked a hot stripe up Jim’s skin and began to suck on his ridiculously sensitive nipples. “Oh fuck,” Jim arched up again, exposing his long neck, “Ohhhhh fuckkkk.” He felt as if he could climax just from that nipple play. Mycroft kept at it for a long time, flicking his tongue on the nipples and blowing on them, repeatedly making Jim moan and thrash and try to push his head down towards the desired destination._

_“Suck my cock,” Jim commanded._

_“Patience,” Mycroft mumbled._

_“No, no, no, nowwww!”_

_“Nah, not so quickly. First I want to do this.”_

_Then he flipped Jim around and his tongue touched Jim’s hole._

_Jim screamed out loud. He was no longer an involuntary, reluctant participant. He had begun to crave Mycroft’s mouth and hands._

_Mycroft stabbed at the tiny twitching hole rapidly, repeatedly, all the while as he kept his hand between Jim’s now open legs and stroked his cock. The stiff prick began to harden even further and Mycroft could feel Jim’s heartbeat vibrate through it. The engorged throbbing erection soon started to leak profusely._

_The moment Mycroft realized Jim was at a point of no return, he flipped him back and sucked the hard member into his mouth. Jim came with a screech of a very familiar name and came._

_***_

_“You can’t keep me here forever,” Jim said crossly, arms folded over his chest._

_“But what is it that makes you so unhappy?” Mycroft tried to reason with his unhappy lover, “This place has everything you need and like. Books, internet, movies, gym, laboratory, telescope, piano, all the luxuries and necessities for your day to day life. I even went and bought you your favorite Westwood suits and bespoke handmade shoes. You have a state of the art lab at your disposal to do your work and your experiments. Still you sound sad. Is it because I can’t give you sex five times a day?”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jim thundered as he moved away from Mycroft, looking annoyed and sounding frustrated, “You think you can buy my freedom by buying me Westwood suits and bespoke shoes? Let me remind you that while you are dangerous, I outrank you on the danger factor. If you’re known for your connections, I am right up there with you with my own list of powerful allies. If you are hard and controlling then so am I and this pitiful existence of working and living in secret with you is not working out. In three months I haven’t seen the outside world. I am trapped here in a military underground facility.” He looked around and fell back in bed, groaning._

_“This is the only place where nobody would look for you,” Mycroft answered patiently as he took off his jacket and waistcoat before shrugging off his tie and cufflinks, “Or suspect this as you’re hiding place. You’re safe here. Nobody will ever lay a finger on you.”_

_He climbed on top of Jim and unzipped his own pants before pushing Jim’s robe up and exposing his groin, still moist from the shower. “Except for me,” he whispered thickly into Jim’s ears and made the younger man moan out his need._

_“Yes,” Mycroft said, “Your body has answered on your behalf.”_

_“No,” Jim said stubbornly but his cock was hard, growing even harder as Mycroft fondled it and began to fist it with long, luxuriant strokes._

_“No? Your body says otherwise.”_

_“Hnnnnn.”_

_“Want me to fuck you hard and quick? A quickie before I go to meet the commander of this top-secret MI6 facility?”_

_“Do whatever you damn well want.”_

_“Is it so? Fine pumpkin, if that’s what you want from me then let me fulfil your wish.”_

_***_

_The moment Mycroft entered the suite where Jim was housed, he had to duck in a hurry. A few things came flying at him like missiles. He looked around and shook his head, “You have trashed the room.”_

_Jim broke another glass and growled, “I am bored.”_

_Mycroft sighed and stepped past the shards of a broken vase and the ripped pages of a book. “Yes I know and I understand,” he said as gently as possible, “It’s been two and half months and you’ve not had a chance to step out of this facility. Therefore, as a special treat, I have planned a three-week vacation for us. I have a week’s work at Italy, Sicily to be precise, and then we can go wherever you want. I’ll just hand you an atlas and wherever you put your finger, we will go there. Of course you’ll fly to Sicily with me, you can laze on the beaches while I complete my work and attend a boring convention of the United Nations.”_

_Jim gave him a scornful look, “Now you’ve started treating me like a wife.”_

_“What?” Mycroft was dismayed, “I suggested we go for a luxury vacation and you’re saying I am treating you like a wife? How is that even logical?”_

_“For a man of such intelligence and power, you’re devoid of common sense. What do you mean I will laze on the beach while you work? What do you take me for? A lingerie model, a mistress, a gay escort, someone who’ll be overjoyed just to go on an all-expenses paid trip to the beach?”_

_“James, you’re being unfair now. I was only offering to take you on a nice vacation, I didn’t intend to….”_

_“I am James Moriarty. I have more than enough money to do such vacations every month. I have been all over the world already. If you think this is the only entertainment you have to offer then you’re even thicker than I thought.”_

_“Then what do you want James?”_

_“I want to work independently. I want to live independently. I need to do things that leverage my brain cells, things that give me satisfaction. I want to stay busy and productive. Things I am doing for the British government are as interesting as mashing potatoes. You like caging me don’t you? Treat me like a hamster, watch him running on the wheel, watch him nibble at whatever is tossed to him and then bounce off the walls of his cage, nowhere to go, nowhere to escape.”_

_“James, what are you……”_

_“I am not finished yet. Don’t forget, I agreed to this only to save my tiger and some of my most faithful aides. They are all safe now and you have nothing to hold me back anymore.”_

_Mycroft gave him a judgmental look, “If you try to break our pact there’s going to be trouble and that trouble won’t just be mine.”_

_He tried to touch Jim but the Irishman recoiled from him as if he was a scorpion. Mycroft withdrew, the hurt registering on his face instantly even though he didn’t say a word to Jim. The criminal scoffed at him, clearly agitated, “I intended to honor the commitment I made because you did help me in a couple of ways. You kept your end of the word and I admit to that. But it’s about my life, my entire life, and I can’t spend it like this as your ‘kept’. I am not an honorable man Mr. Holmes and, unlike you, I am not vying for a knighthood. I can escape tomorrow if I wish to. No holding cell, no top-secret facility, no number of men can hold me back if I really put my mind to it.”_

_“No,” Mycroft put his hand in his pocket and advanced on Jim, who stood there with a defiant look on his face, “You won’t escape. I have found a way to chain your forever.”_

_Jim’s eyes registered fear for the first time, a combination of fear and anger and desperation that Mycroft failed to notice or recognize. He watched Mycroft curiously, expecting a gun to pop out of that pocket and be pressed against his temple, but instead of that something even more scary came out._

_A ring box._

_Then Mycroft went down on his knees._

_Jim double gasped, trying to process the information to the best of his ability but failing miserably. This wasn’t happening, this just wasn’t happening._

_“James Isaac Moriarty, will you do the honor of marrying me and becoming my lawfully wedded husband James Moriarty Holmes.”_

_Jim started to hyperventilate._

_“Imagine the two most famous family names in England and Ireland, two names associated with genius and brilliance all over the world, joined together in holy matrimony. Imagine our children, imagine the next generation, they’ll conquer the world James. Every bone in their bodies will be made of sheer talent and wit. They will create history. I want us to be partners for life James. Please say yes. You have to say yes.”_

_Jim stepped back, “I don’t have to say anything unless I want to.”_

_“James, I love you.”_

_“Since when?”_

_“Since the day you spent four weeks in my custody. I started that to protect Sherlock and to safeguard the British citizens, but by the end of it I was keeping you back for myself. I wanted to tell you even back then but somehow never got down to it. James, you’re the sexiest, most interesting man I have met. Once you’re my husband the whole world will envy me for what I have and what they cannot.”_

_Jim stepped back even further. When Mycroft began to say something more he raised his hand to stop him. “You’re incapable of being in a relationship Holmes,” he said stiffly and formally, “Forget about getting married. You don’t love me, you just want to control me and leverage my strengths to your advantage. The MI6 chief who tamed Moriarty and put a collar around his neck. Tell me that’s not what you want? I refuse to accept your proposal and I refuse to stay here for a minute longer. Let me live in my own house, we can meet whenever we are both free and we should be able to see others as well, no monogamous bullshit here.”_

_Mycroft got to his knees and grabbed Jim, pulling him closer. His face was calm, as was his tone, but there was a steely and dangerous edge to it. “You promised to be with me, to work and live with me, to give up a life of crime and support my initiatives at MI5 and MI6. In exchange I have extended quite a few favors to you and your men. Don’t mess with me James, if you even attempt an escape I will be forced to treat you like a prisoner, like a criminal.”_

_“That doesn’t scare me for a moment because that’s been my life for the past seventy-seven days. For the first fifteen days I was free to come and go anywhere as I pleased and I made a silly mistake of believing that’s how it will be in the future. The moment my men were extradited from the country you showed your true colors, didn’t you? Well Mycroft Holmes, don’t forget James Moriarty is a one-man army. I don’t need anyone’s help to do what I really want to do.”_

_Mycroft felt his logic and courage slowly run out. He knew these weren’t empty threats. He was worried, not just about losing Jim but also losing the advantage he had if Jim worked with him and helped him solve problems faster. That mind was a scythe, so sharp it was unstoppable._

_At the same time he was worried about Sherlock. Jim on the loose spelt danger for Sherlock as well._

_“We will talk tomorrow,” Mycroft said sternly, “Someone will come in and clean this up. Calm down and we can discuss this later. I will hear you out, we will come to a truce…..”_

_Jim looked at him sharply, “Only if I wear your ring?”_

_Mycroft looked back at him, just as sharply, “Yes.”_

_“So I am trapped? If you can’t do that as a custodian of the law, then you’d do it by civil laws?”_

_“James, as I said, we will talk later. You are not in a fit state to have a proper conversation.”_

_“FUCK YOU,” Jim screamed after him, “You won’t find me here when you’re back, I swear, remember my words, you WON’T find me here tomorrow. Go and double the guards, put more surveillance, both manual and technology-driven, nothing can stop me from reclaiming my life.”_

_***_

John and Eugenia stared in astonishment as Mycroft paused after talking nonstop for almost half an hour. None of them had heard him talk so much or get some emotional. He always came across as an unemotional, restrained, reserved cold fish who spoke only when spoken to or when he had to make a speech in the House of Lords. His limited conversations were peppered by dry wit or sarcasm, not wistfulness or regret. Eugenia was especially taken aback by her son’s outburst. “In the past twenty years you haven’t said so much at one go,” she admitted, “I have to say I can barely recognize you Myc.”

 

“When I go back to that phase of my life,” Mycroft answered grimly, “I barely recognize myself.”

 

John huffed out a joyless chuckle, “So, in other words, Mycroft Holmes finally fell in love, tried to control the one he loved and lost him. While I feel very sorry for your loss Myc, I can’t say you didn’t deserve it. But first things first, how on earth did you even fall for a man who had tried to get Sherlock to jump off the Barts rooftop? He is a criminal, a dangerous man, and behaviors like that do not change. I am surprised that someone as astute as you could even think he would stay in your cage.”

 

“I didn’t realize it was a cage,” Mycroft said, “Had I known it was so and how James truly felt, I wouldn’t have let him do what he did later.”

 

Eugenia looked bewildered, “What did he do? He escaped?”

 

“No,” Mycroft’s voice cracked, “Well, yes, he did. But only to die in an accident the next day as he tried to escape my men who were in hot pursuit. I killed him, I am responsible for his death. It’s all my fault.”

 

“Oh God,” Eugenia looked teary eyed, “I am so sorry, I am sorry, poor boy. I know he was a …..well, you don’t hate the dead. I hope his soul rests in peace and you find your peace too.”

 

She stepped out of the room, clearly overwhelmed. Mycroft heaved a sigh of relief and turned to John, getting a start when he saw the doctor’s eyes trained on him. “You saw through my lie, didn’t you?” He asked.

 

“Yes,” John confirmed, “Jim isn’t dead. You just wanted your mum to believe he was. Right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relationships here are dysfunctional and people are a bit not good. Just saying.


	25. Tiger Takes Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of one of Jim's strange 'episodes', Sherlock finally finds an ally in the Moriarty camp. An unusual but powerful ally!

When Mycroft didn’t answer, John raised his voice. “I am not taking your silence for an answer. Tell me Myc, where is Jim Moriarty now? Is Sherlock in his custody? Is Sherlock’s life in danger? Were all those gifts and postcards and handwritten letters from him just an eyewash? Maybe someone puts a gun at his temple, no let me correct myself, someone takes aim at me and his parents and he is asked to do their bidding or our brains spill out. How much of this do we NOT know Mycroft?”

 

Mycroft sat down on a chair and loosened his tie.

 

“I am not aware of James’ location even if he’s alive and somewhere in this world today. He took care to cover his tracks and even his closest aides, including Sebastian Moran, disappeared from their ‘new homes’ without a trace. No footprints or vapors to follow, no scent or numbers to trace, he simply made it look like a vanishing act. He slipped through our fingers like sand and slithered out of our facility like an invisible serpent. Even today the commander of that facility is at his wits end trying to figure out how James managed to get away. Then that accident, the whole thing about not finding his body, I had my suspicions even then. But for months and even years he didn’t reappear. My hopes waned and I thought that maybe he is really gone.”

 

John swallowed, “He isn’t. Is he?”

 

“Well, someone from my team is sure they saw him six months ago in London. Him and one of his female aides, Irene Adler. But no proof was found. A month later Sherlock disappeared.”

 

“You feel those two things are connected? Jim’s appearance and Sherlock’s disappearance?”

 

“I don’t feel that, I know that.”

 

John blinked, “How can you be so sure?”

 

“What’s your problem John,” Mycroft lost his cool finally, “You want an answer and that too an answer that makes you happy? That can’t be. Sometimes the truth is a bitter pill to taste and harder to digest.”

 

John was afraid to hear anything further but managed to muster up enough courage to make an attempt at least. “O-kaay, so then you’re saying…..”

 

“It’s hard for me to say this, really hard,” Mycroft answered, “It’s something private and personal but I guess you have the right to know, as you’re Sherlock’s best friend and colleague. When James and I were together, sometimes when we had sex, he would call out….”

 

John leaned forward, as if straining his ears and all of his senses to hear and understand better.

 

“At the end, in that moment, he sometimes called out a name. He would scream it out sometimes and try to drown it with more screams or he would mumble it and try to muffle it with moans. But I always heard what he said, though I never called him out on it.”

 

He paused for an eternity and then added, “The name on his lips was…….Sherlock.”

 

***

 

Two months had passed since Istanbul. Sherlock had taken an active part in some of Jim’s ‘missions’, one in Malaysia and one in New Zealand before they ended up in Hong Kong for a while. Jim was talking to the mafia there for some possible tasks in future and to sooth some feathers his team had ruffled. Even in his new, unseen avatar, he inspired fear and worry wherever he got directly involved. It was something Sherlock noted with pride nowadays. In fact everything about Jim was far more interesting and meaningful in his eyes, now that he knew the man better.

 

But sometimes he feared that even knowing the man better was akin to know very little about him, and his fear was confirmed when he came home (Jim kept a base there, a house close to where Jackie Chan lived) from the gym and found his mate curled up on the couch.

 

Jim looked so dead, so empty and so blank that it scared the hell out of Sherlock. He tried to talk to him, tried to seduce him, tried to make him respond but Jim was like a rag doll with blinking eyelids. He was so still and silent that at one point Sherlock had to press his ear to Jim’s chest to listen to his beating heart. Fortunately it was normal, maybe a bit slow, but there was nothing irregular about it. “Jimmy,” he shook the man hard after an hour of making futile attempts at getting him to speak, “Say something man, I am beginning to lose it now. Say something, anything.”

 

Jim simply stared ahead with the same blank look in his eyes.

 

“Fuck,” Sherlock swore, gripping his hairs and tugging hard at them. This was a nightmare.

 

After three hours had passed and not a drop of water or a morsel of food had passed through Jim’s lips, nor had a sound escaped them, Sherlock was totally at his wits’ end. Briefly he thought about calling John but doing so would risk exposure or discovery. He couldn’t do Jim this disservice.

 

Finally he decided to call the only man who wouldn’t let their side down. Sebastian Moran.

 

The deep voice answered his call after seven rings. “Sherlock Holmes, to what do I owe this surprise?”

 

“Sebastian….”

 

“Sherlock, what’s the matter? You don’t sound too upbeat. Is Jim all right?”

 

“It’s James…..”

 

Sherlock began to explain everything with as much clarity as possible while he kept trying to make Jim drink water. But the water simply dribbled down the man’s chin and wetted his T shirt. In frustration Sherlock threw the bottle against the wall but even that sudden sound did nothing to shake Jim out of the bubble of inaction he seemed to have been trapped into. Sebastian listened patiently and finally said, “So, to summarize this, you left him asleep in bed and went to the gym. When you returned an hour later to prepare breakfast you saw him on the couch, unresponsive but awake. Am I correct?”

 

“You’re saying this as if it’s nothing, as if it’s…..”

 

“Sherlock listen to me, I am calm because I have seen this happen half a dozen times.”

 

“WHAT?”

 

“It’s a disorder he has. It was worse before, used to happen three times a year. Now it’s happened after almost two years and that too because he has stopped his meds completely.”

 

“Meds? I don’t know about meds. What meds should I give him?”

 

“I’ll tell you. Get the first in the form of an intravenous injection and then he can take them orally. The psychiatrist told me this might recur in the future but as long as the episodes happen farther and farther apart, it’s a good sign of recovery. But he will never completely recover. Whenever there are such episodes he must be put back on meds and if possible shown to the shrink. But that can happen only when he gets slightly better.”

 

“I….I don’t understand….”

 

“Then listen to me. Do as I tell you to do.”

 

“NO. YOU come over and do what you have to do.”

 

“What? You want me there? I wasn’t expecting this.”

 

“Listen colonel Moran, I don’t fucking care what your expectations are. Where you live is barely a few hours from here so get your arse on a plane right away and come down to Hong Kong. I will text you the address.”

 

“I know the address. Just hold on till I get there okay? Just get that shot given to him and ask them to put him on an IV or he’ll dehydrate.”

 

***

 

Sherlock didn’t know whether he should be jealous of or grateful to Sebastian.

 

The man had turned up at Hong Kong in six hours, true to his word, and taken over smoothly from a rather distressed and nervous Sherlock. He had even organized for the shrink to be flown in from Germany within twenty-four hours, the same one who had treated Jim in the past and knew his case history. In two days Jim looked better than before and it was heartening for Sherlock to hear ‘He is fine, on the mend, no real damages’.

 

“His meds should continue at full dosage for another month, then on half-strength for the next fourteen days, then wean him off it,” the shrink said to Sebastian while casting curious glances at Sherlock from the corner of her eyes, “Give them only when there is a real need and not because it’s a new day. Maybe once or twice a week. But by two months he should go off them completely. In a week he will be back to his normal life but right now he isn’t ready to resume his regular routine again. He needs to be watched and monitored for two weeks at least. Who is that gentleman, a new business partner?”

 

Sherlock had bared his teeth to snap at her when Sebastian stumped him with the answer, “He is Jim’s boyfriend.”

 

She looked at Sebastian, then at Sherlock, then back at Sebastian again. For a moment it seemed like she was about to ask a follow up question, one which would have made both men uncomfortable, but thankfully decided not to pursue her curiosity on this matter.

 

“I will leave by day after tomorrow,” she announced, “He won’t need me after that.”

 

“Of course doc,” Sebastian made a gesture of tipping a hat.

 

“Tonight and tomorrow night, I’ll sleep in the same room. Can you have a bed put up at that corner for me please?”

 

“Sure doc.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

The moment she had stepped out of the room, Sherlock rushed to Jim’s bedside and looked at everything properly and meticulously. Sebastian was about to stop him but let him go ahead when he saw how ashen faced and nervy Sherlock was. He stood there and watched as the detective checked Jim’s temperature, blood pressure, the medicines prescribed, the IV bag, the heart monitor, the other reports, the X-Rays.

 

“He seems fine,” the sleuth said finally, “He improved since you arrived.”

 

“No, he improved within hours of the first dose being given through him via a shot,” Sebastian said, “It is a normal course of reaction to his prescribed meds. Also you had the IV set up so he gets fluids in, or else he would have suffered from dehydration, making matters worse. With the way he sweats when the medicines are initially administered, his hydration levels and sodium levels drop sharply.”

 

“Why?” Sherlock asked.

 

“I am assuming you’re asking me about why he has these episodes and not about why his hydration levels drop,” Sebastian caught Sherlock by the arm and guided him to the balcony, “Let’s not talk here because he’s been mildly sedated, not fully sedated. His brain is working, it’s just that there is an external layer around it which prevents the rest of his body from following the instructions sent by the brain. In this condition he can hear and remember most of what is spoken around him. I remember saying I would give him a blowjob the moment he got better and he actually held me to my word when his initial recuperation was over.”

 

“I don’t want to know about your sex life,” Sherlock said rudely, “As for the ‘why’, I was asking about why you’re so aware of what he needs while I am just clueless. I must have sounded like an idiot speaking to you last morning, no idea why he was like this and what I was supposed to do to help him.”

 

“Initially even I was clueless,” Sebastian closed the sliding door between the room and balcony.

 

“Well, thanks.”

 

“For?”

 

“For coming over quickly.”

 

“I had to. Even if you guys were in Antarctica I would have had to.”

 

“Because Jim needed you.”

 

“Not just him, because both of you needed me. He needed me to recover and you needed me for support.”

 

Sherlock snorted and turned his face away, “I don’t need anyone for anything. Least of all, you. I called you because I wanted Jim to get better and you knew about his medical history. No need to make this sound like some noble did for you due to charitable feelings towards me.”

 

Sebastian lit a cigarette and chuckled out aloud. Irritated, Sherlock snapped, “What’s so God damned funny?”

 

“You really are clueless,” Sebastian kept chuckling, “Seriously Sherlock, what do you think I feel about you huh? A fellow member of Jim’s harem, my successor or my rival?”

 

“You tell me,” Sherlock said in a tight voice.

 

“Jealousy makes a man dense, doesn’t it?” Sebastian’s voice grew serious for a moment, then went back to the lighthearted bantering mode once more, “For someone like you, this kind of insecurity is ugly Sherlock, ugly and uncalled for. If I viewed you as any of those three things I just mentioned, I would have talked Jim out of keeping you with him. I could have also fixed your wagon so shrewdly that nobody would have known, not even Jim, at least not right away. And by the time he would have found out you might have been six feet under the ground. But no, that was never my intention. In fact, getting rid of you is a thought that hasn’t even crossed my mind, not even once.”

 

“I-I guess,” Sherlock surrendered, “I am just jealous of the fact that he has never had someone better than you.”

 

“Maybe in some ways, yes. But he has always had a soft corner for you, even back then when you gave him no indications that you liked him back. He would lie in my arms at night and tell tales of your cases, he would sit with me in the tub and wonder what you were up to. Guess I was so used to you being with us even while you weren’t that I never saw you as an intruder or someone who replaced me. The only change is that your presence is now three-dimensional.”

 

At that Sherlock found himself smiling. Sebastian’s sense of humor was gold, he had to admit that at least.

 

“Look at me Sherlock,” Sebastian handed him a cigarette but Sherlock refused, “You live with him, travel with him, work with him, while I am now retired and banished from his life and work. Who should be jealous of whom?”

 

“You.”

 

“I am not. Guess why?”

 

“Do tell.”

 

“When you love someone like Jim, you learn to be happy with whatever you can get for whichever period of time it lasts. You don’t know when it’s gonna run out. I kid you not detective, he is a whimsical man who takes life-changing decisions at the spur of the moment.”

 

“You mean, even I have a shelf-life?”

 

Sebastian sighed, “Shelf life? I thought he told you it’s for a year. But yeah, in case he were to want to extended this, he might do that on the 365th day!” He took another drag from his cigarette and added, “If we knew each other better, we might have talked about this. But it’s too soon for us to discuss this and, since we have barely spent time together, perhaps we shouldn’t even try to find out an answer at this point. It’s like the blind guiding the blind.”

 

Sherlock took the cigarette from Sebastian’s mouth and started dragging on it. “You said if we knew each other better? How about we find that out now?”

 

Sebastian looked so shocked that even a humorless man like Sherlock had to chuckle. “Look at you, all wound up like an old clock, mouth open like a fly trap. Colonel Moran, give a thirty-year-old virgin a taste of sex and you give a hungry tiger a taste of human blood. It can wipe off a race afterwards, insatiable and always hungry. I am that tiger on the loose and I want to know you, I want to see and taste and experience what Jim saw in you, what he still sees in you. I want to find out how you captivated that outstanding creature and got into his orbit. How you left your long shadow behind so we’re forced to call you back even if we don’t wanna?”

 

Realization seeped into those blue eyes and they twinkled, “We, or you?”

 

“Jim and I are one now.”

 

“Oho, Romeo and Jules. Or should I say Adam and Steve.”

 

“Be thankful for what is on offer rather than question your good fortune.”

 

“Wipe that smug grin off your face Holmes. You just want cock, admit it.”

 

“I don’t want just any cock, I want that cock which trapped the great James Moriarty.”

 

“You have taken on his crude tongue, as I see.”

 

Sherlock pushed back his curls and said arrogantly, “Say yes and you might get a chance to see just how many of his qualities have rubbed off on me.”

 

A grin spread over Seb’s lips and the former sniper whispered huskily, “Unbelievable. Fuck you.”

 

Sherlock waggled his brows, “When?”

 

Sebastian thought for a few seconds before a hungry, wolfish look came over his face. He leaned closer, as if he was going to kiss Sherlock. A slight shiver ran down the detective’s spine. _Have I bitten off more than I can chew? No, too late to go back now._ Sherlock leaned in, closing his eyes and parting his lips slightly. He was ready, he wanted to know Sebastian, he wanted to know how this man could make everything right in Jim’s world while he was left groping in the dark for clues.

 

“Sherlock,” Sebastian didn’t kiss him, instead he just nudged him a little, “My bedroom, now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint of upcoming SebLock and then perhaps MorMorLock. But afterwards this fic will get very angsty and messy. You have all been warned.


	26. Seblock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Sherlock get to 'Know' each other 'intimately'

 

“You sure?” Sebastian asked as his fingers skimmed Sherlock’s hole, the slippery lube dripping on to the soft furled skin.

 

“Yes, yes, YES,” Sherlock wriggled his bum, seeking friction, “If Jim needs both of us then he should have us. But before we come to that, I want us to know each other. I want to let you into our bed because I want it, not because I feel obligated to do it for Jimmy.”

 

“Gosh you control freaks,” Sebastian laughed, “But who am I to complain when I am getting this.” He stroked down Sherlock’s naked body, marveling at it through his gaze and touches, making the detective shiver and shudder and let out a few shameless loud moans. He was wriggling too much and the blond man threw a heavy leg over him to pin him down. “You want to do a threesome but on your own terms,” Sebastian said as he began to massage Sherlock’s opening with skilled fingers, “Not someone else’s. Well, at least you didn’t make it look like you’re being fucking martyred.”

 

“You talk too fucking much.”

 

“Like Jawwwwn?”

 

“You fucking asshole.”

 

“Yeah, that means ‘how the hell do you know this’, right?”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Potty mouth.”

 

“Uhnnnnn!!!”

 

Sebastian had engaged Sherlock in a conversation and managed to get a long finger inside him, probing insistently yet prodding gently, not going over the top but not being too delicate with him either. He had noticed that Sherlock was a man’s man and didn’t like being treated like a piece of breakable glass. “Warm,” he murmured hotly into Sherlock’s ears, “Nice little soft hole, tight and hot.”

 

“Uffff…..more!”

 

“Just like him, impatient.”

 

Sherlock’s back arched off the mattress as Sebastian let in one more finger. The knuckle of that finger lightly grazed his sweet spot and a bead of slick appeared at the tip of his cock. “Wow,” the former sniped looked at it and bent his head to lick it off with relish.

 

“Ohhhhhfuccckkkkk,” Sherlock screamed.

 

“Shush,” Sebastian insisted, “The shrink is in the next room with Jim-Jim.”

 

“I wouldn’t care if my mum was in that room,” Sherlock snapped. Sebastian chuckled hard and began to add a third finger, closely monitoring Sherlock’s face as the detective adjusted to the intrusion, looking a trifle tense at the beginning before a blissful smile appeared on his face. Encouraged, Sebastian added a fourth finger and held still, licking and sucking the tip of Sherlock’s cock as the Englishman veered between wanting more and letting this get prolonged. It felt so good he wanted both instant and delayed gratification, even if that sounded like an impossible prospect.

 

With a start Sebastian began to move the fingers in and out of Sherlock.

 

“Unnnngggg,” Sherlock scrunched his eyes shut and fisted the sheets with his left hand while his right hand smacked on to Sebastian’s shoulder and held on there.

 

“Theeeere,” Sebastian said with satisfaction, “You’re opening up nicely for me.”

 

Indeed Sherlock felt more relaxed and easier now but his body was craving for more, even more. Four long and skilled fingers felt good but he wanted Sebastian’s cock, he wanted his mouth, he wanted everything from that man. A series of monologues began in his head, his blunt voice of reason versus his more emotional and needy side, clashing and arguing and warring over why he had let this happen and how things would take a turn hereafter!

 

_What’s wrong with me? Why am I acting like a greedy slut?_

**_Because you are a greedy slut._ **

_What if he wants to live with Jim again?_

**_No, not unless Jim feels the need to._ **

_And if Jim feels the need to?_

**_I won’t let him feel that way, I will be both Sebastian and Sherlock for him._ **

_What if you start craving for this man? What if you want the best of both worlds?_

 

**_Then maybe that’s because I do deserve the best of both worlds and it is absolutely fine for me to want Seb and Jim._ **

 

“He is fine,” Sebastian was whispering into his ears, “Don’t get lost while we’re naked in bed and about to have sex. If he was in any real danger I wouldn’t even agree to fuck you tonight.”

 

Sherlock blushed slightly, “Sorry.”

 

Sebastian began to pull his fingers out of Sherlock but the green-eyed man tensed his entire asshole and stopped him. Blue eyes stared at him in amusement and Sebastian replied to a question that hadn’t even been asked aloud. “I am not abandoning you here or leaving you high and dry,” he said as he kissed up Sherlock’s long throat, “I am just bettering this a bit. I thought that while you like my fingers you might want something bigger inside, like my cock.” For emphasis he slapped his erect phallus against Sherlock’s right buttock, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing loudly in the room.

 

“Put it in,” Sherlock ‘heard’ his begging voice as if it was coming from someone else, “Just put it all inside me.”

 

Sebastian didn’t allow himself to be hurried. He slowly pulled his fingers out, causing Sherlock to moan from the temporary emptiness he felt inside. He reached down and placed a chaste kiss on the inside of Sherlock’s thighs before taking the tip of the Holmes cock between his lips. But he neither sucked nor moved them, he simply tightened his lips and watched as Sherlock howled, moaned, shuddered and then began to fuck his mouth.

 

Just then he let go.

 

“Motherfucker,” Sherlock growled, holding the base of his cock and trying to shove it into the warm cavern again.

 

“Slut,” Sebastian slapped him arse hard.

 

Sherlock yelped. “That stung like a bitch,” he complained.

 

“Mmmm, bed games Holmes, bed games,” Sebastian said like a cool cat and started to rub the slippery tip of his dick up and down the equally slippery span of Sherlock’s crack. Even though Sherlock tried to push back and get him to slide in, Sebastian pulled back with a sneer.

 

“I said FUCK ME,” Sherlock sneered back.

 

“I don’t fuck on demand.”

 

“Please fuck me Sebastian.”

 

“That’s better. Make it even better.”

 

“Fuck me and make me cum please, I want your cock, I want you to show me a good tiii….UH!”

 

Sebastian inserted his monster dick into Sherlock in one smooth and slightly hard push, sliding all the way in until his balls slapped noisily against the other man’s butt.

 

Sherlock was a hundred percent sure he had lost his powers of speech. While Jim was not average size he was not huge either. Sherlock himself was well endowed but not quite a monster. Naturally he had never realized what he had bargained for. While Sebastian’s nine and half inch dick looked pretty impressive and tempting, taking it up the arse was an altogether different matter. As it moved deep inside him Sherlock felt as if it was caressing the entrance to his intestines, splitting him open and dividing him into two. He could feel it somewhere deep inside him, stomach, bones, somewhere……

 

Since he couldn’t get even a word out, he let his hands and nails do the talking. He slapped, smacked, punched and scratched at Sebastian, craving this and fighting this at the same time. As luck would have it, this aroused Sebastian even more and he let out a loud groan and began to move. As and when that happened, Sherlock lost the powers of doing anything else but enjoying the immense pleasure the other man showered him with. Repeated nudges to his prostate made him cry out wildly, scream and thrash as it got too much, and wrap his long legs around his lover and try to draw him in even further. The muscles underneath his alabaster skin rippled and tremored and his cock lay flat against his abs, leaking over it.

 

“First time won’t be too long Sherlock,” Sebastian warned and Sherlock saw that the legendary Colonel Moran was just as close to losing it as he was.

 

“Promise me round two and you can cream my ass,” Sherlock snorted, managing to be cocky even when he was in a vulnerable state with a cock lodged up his arse.

 

“Oh fuck,” Sebastian sped up and started pounding into him. Initially pain shot up from his groin but soon all of that turned into pleasure for Sherlock, somewhat magically like a gooey, runny concoction freezing and setting into the perfect custard.

 

Moments later ribbons of cum shot out of Sherlock and hit his own face, Sebastian’s face (giving him a strip next to his right eyebrow) and the pillow. Sherlock vaguely registered the fact that he had never shot such an enormous load before, except for that one time with Jim.

 

Seconds later Sebastian filled him with warmth and from the way it filled him up, Sherlock realized it was a pretty huge load too. The man clearly didn’t get much sex since he had moved away from his Jim-Jim.

 

The sounds of their panting, ragged breathing and noisy exhales started to die down. Sebastian kept his weight mostly on his arms to prevent crushing Sherlock while Sherlock let his legs fall limply on the bed, still shivering from the aftershocks.

 

Suddenly he laughed.

 

“What the fuck,” Sebastian lifted his head from Sherlock’s neck, “You find something funny, mister?”

 

“Not you, it’s about me,” Sherlock kept chuckling, “I was thinking about custard while you were pounding my arse.”

 

“You funny little twat, but I sure as hell loved the way you spread your custard all over the place,” Sebastian chuckled too. He skimmed off the semen from his brow, Sherlock’s cheek and the pillow and rubbed the sticky warmth all over Sherlock’s chest and abs. While Sherlock cooed and hummed with post coital joy, Sebastian pushed his cock further inside the detective’s arse, demonstrating just how hard he still was. He watched with satisfaction as Sherlock’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and his mouth opened wide in a silent scream of pleasure. The softening cock trapped between their bodies twitched and started to perk up again and the two men smiled at each other, realizing what was happening.

 

“Round two?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Like this?”

 

“Whatever way you wish.”

 

“Then here goes.”

 

With superhuman strength Sebastian reversed their positions so Sherlock sat astride him now and all this while not letting his thick cock slip even an inch out of the detective’s well used and slippery arse.

 

***

 

New tingles of climax beat at Sherlock’s body and he groaned with pleasure as one more of Sebastian’s thrusts hit his prostate dead on.

 

“Fuck yeah,” Sebastian said with evident satisfaction, “You’re getting tighter. You like this, don’t you detective?”

 

Sherlock choked out an affirmative answer. He was still cheeky and well within his senses but he no longer felt the need to communicate using words. They had been going at it for an hour now and were past their second climax, Sherlock’s essence painted all over Sebastian’s abs and chest and Sebastian’s thick cum now dripping out of Sherlock’s filled up arse and trickling down his perineum and Sebastian’s balls.

 

It felt hot and dirty and only stoked their arousal further. Neither could get enough of this.

 

Sebastian grunted out loud with each thrust while Sherlock stroked his cock in sheer desperation, pushing his body for another release. Alas, his body was not ready yet and it left him teetering on the edge, his brain slowly melting into mush.

 

Sebastian on the other hand had a far lower refractory system and kept thrusting up as much as he could with Sherlock sitting atop him with his full weight. The detective watched, wonder written large in his eyes, as the sniper kept cumming again and again, filling him up with multiple batches of his release till he felt wetness spread out of his arse and spill on to the sheets. With every pulse of Sebastian’s release inside him, Sherlock felt himself pushed closer and closer to that elusive orgasm until it was not elusive anymore and his cock began to start throbbing.

 

He stroked it hard, eyes closed and mouth open, panting breaths, moans and gasps escaping it at regular intervals, hips jerking and stuttering as bolts of pleasure began to travel down his spine and spread around his groin like wet intense heat.

 

“Fuck,” he cried out at last, “S-Seb, I’m cumming again. I can’t help it!!!”

 

“Cum,” Sebastian ordered, “I’m nearly there!”

 

He felt Sebastian thrust up again but this time Sherlock was not going to have it that way. He bore down harder on Sebastian and started rocking on top of him, hips moving back and forth as he concentrated on the feeling of that monster lodged inside him. It didn’t take too long.

 

Sherlock came with a loud groan that could have scared people on the streets outside. Sebastian followed shortly after, his cock automatically spilling out a last meagre trickle of fluid as he watched Sherlock lustfully while the detective stroked himself to completion while using his free hand to pinch his nipples. Their combined energies nearly broke the bed which creaked unusually loud and shook dangerously hard.

 

“Ohhhhh,” Sherlock collapsed on top of Sebastian.

 

“M’dead,” Sebastian mumbled, eyes closed but a smile on his lips.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“No, I enjoyed it too.”

 

“No, I mean I just put my full weight on you…..”

 

“I have lifted and carried men twice your weight. So don’t even worry on that account.”

 

“Seb?”

 

“Hmmm?”

 

“I have a few confessions to make,” Sherlock whined as Sebastian’s cock finally softened and slipped out of him, before he literally fell down on the bed next to the taller man, “When I realized Jim had feelings for you, that you were occupying that spot next to Jim in his bed which became mine only after you vacated it, I began to view you as a rival, a threat, an evil force that could take away everything I held dear. I acted like a jealous schoolboy, I wished you harm, I wished you would just disappear somehow. Maybe I should have thought that having you around could actually work to my advantage.”

 

“I have confessions too,” Sebastian seemed introspective, “I thought Jim had brought you along to teach Mycroft a lesson, to show him he could hurt him too just as Mycroft hurt Jim by separating us. But then, when I saw you guys at Mauritius, I got my clarity. Having you around made Jim happier, more stable, a lot more human. I even sensed that Jim had finally moved on and started to re-explore the realms of a relationship. Did hurt a bit, nobody likes to see their ex with someone else, but I quickly got rid of those feelings because Jim assured me that…..”

 

“You will never lose your place? In his heart? In his life?”

 

“That and more.”

 

“And you okay with that?”

 

“As I told you, with Jim you take what you can and enjoy it while it lasts.”

 

“Give me this superpower then, or a way to acquire it. Why can’t I be detached and attached at the same time?”

 

Seb yawned, “Tomorrow. You drained me.” His eyes fluttered shut, “Sorry, gotta sleep now.”

 

“Me too,” Sherlock suddenly felt tired. They offered each other sleepy smiles and automatically turned away, facing opposite sides but staying close enough to feel each other’s warmth. However, sometime during the course of the night, they moved back into each other’s arms.

 

***

 

Morning dawned but the light was faint. When Sherlock woke up, he was greeted with the sight of Sebastian’s sleeping face inches from his own and their legs tangled together. It was cloudy outside and a light drizzle fell around the island nation. A weird feeling of being watched made Sherlock roll over and looked on the other side and the moment he did so, his jaw dropped.

 

Jim Moriarty was sitting on a chair next to their bed, watching them calmly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all about two tall sexy alpha males enjoying each other. There, I said it.


	27. You Me and Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Threesome!
> 
> and that is all.....

Sherlock sat up so abruptly that one of his arms struck Sebastian across the face and woke him up. It was unpleasant and the man sat up with a groan. “Now that’s not how you start the morning after,” Sebastian said in a grumpy tone, “What’s the time?”

 

Sherlock grabbed his chin and turned his head in the right direction. Instantly the sniper became a tame pussycat. “Jim……how are you feeling?”

 

Jim kept staring at both of them, speechless and soundless, eyes unblinking, as if he had been sleepwalking and was still in a state of open-eyed repose. Sherlock tried to reach out to him but a firm grasp of his hand from Sebastian stopped him and the detective stayed on the bed, eyes fixed on his lover. _Their lover_ , he thought for a moment. “Jim-Jim,” Sebastian began, not making any sudden movements and keeping his voice low, “It’s not what it seems. I can explain, I mean we both can explain. We should talk about this before you jump to any conclusions, please. Jim, can you please respond boss?”

 

No answer.

 

Sherlock tried. “Jimmy, I just wanted to get to know him better so we can accept him in our life from time to time without me feeling and acting like a jilted lover. I didn’t intend to upset you. We would have told you the moment we…..”

 

“The moment when?”

 

Both of them heaved a sigh of relief. Jim sounded downbeat and croaky but at least he had spoken. Over the past three days he hadn’t uttered a single word.

 

“The moment you felt better?” Sherlock offered.

 

“Don’t…..” Sebastian warned in a hushed whisper.

 

It was too late. Jim looked at them tearfully this time, his voice wobbly, “Am-am I….is there something wrong with me?”

 

“No Jimmy, there is nothing wrong with you at all,” Sebastian cautiously got off the bed, realized he was still naked and reached for his boxers and T shirt, “We just meant to say that as soon as you were awake and we’d all have breakfast together we would have discussed this. Come on now, let’s get you something to eat. You must be hungry, are you not?”

 

“Very,” Jim said, looking around as if he was in an alien, unfamiliar place, “Why? Have I not eaten in a long time? It seems like that, as if I was starving. I just drank three liters of water, I was that thirsty.”

 

Sherlock looked on helplessly but Sebastian took charge in an admirable manner. “You have been busy with work as usual, forgot to eat and sleep and then slept for a whole day and night. The usual stuff you end up doing once in a few months. I think we need to go on a holiday or something, you need a break and it seems Sherlock here needs a break too. How does visiting my home sound? You haven’t visited me even once, would you like to see the place?”

 

Jim curled up on the chair as if trying to get into a shell where he could hide from the world. “I am hungry,” he eventually said.

 

“No point talking beyond this, he is not ready,” Sebastian said to Sherlock when the detective attempted to make further conversation with the criminal. When Sherlock gave him a scowling look, Sebastian quickly dragged him into the bathroom so they could have a tete-a-tete in private. “Listen Sherlock,” Sebastian’s voice was tired, weary, “You are seeing this for the first time but for me this is the seventh. I know what works and what doesn’t. He goes silent, comatose, then the meds bring him back into action but for a couple of days he’s like a newborn baby. He can’t handle words, thoughts, plans, actions. We have to wait for a better time to talk to him.”

 

“How did he end up in the room then? How did he even know we were there and we were together?” Sherlock asked. His heart was breaking. He remembered Jim’s words from a long time ago, from an era which now seemed like another life. To Sherlock’s curt ‘I have been told I don’t possess a heart’ he had responded with ‘You know very well that is not true’.

 

“I don’t think we knew we were together. He must have missed you in bed, looked for me and found me nowhere, so he came to the room I am most likely to occupy. His instincts are dulled, not his senses. He can feel and understand everything, he just can’t process it enough to respond properly yet. He knew where his men would be, where he’d be safe and loved, he just followed his gut.”

 

“Jim is very sick Seb.”

 

“He isn’t sick. Yes, he does have issues. It’s much better than before.”

“He needs help.”

 

“We have given him every form of help. This is the as good as it gets, it won’t get any better than this. We have to hope that these episodes will come only once in four or five years, that’s about all. In fact they already have become few and far between, believe me.”

 

Sherlock let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. “Bipolar?” He asked, suddenly regretting those initial days when he used to call Jim a ‘madman’.

 

“That and a few others,” Sebastian said, “Let’s not analyze, especially not when he’s still in need of help……”

 

***

 

One week had passed and Jim was back to his usual self. He swore, cursed, threatened to blow things and people up and kept working round the clock with scant regard for his meals and sleep. While this would have irked Sherlock under other circumstances, in this situation he actually felt quite elated to see Jim in his normal avatar. “The Jim kind of normal of course,” he said to Sebastian one evening as they washed and dried dishes together in the kitchen, “But I am happy he is being just ‘Jim’.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Sebastian showed a scratch on the back of his neck, “I got this for not answering his call in three rings.”

 

“You know Seb,” Sherlock reminisced wistfully, “Before I started this phase of my life, I was acting just like Jim. I had my mood swings, I had my rough patches, I was unpredictable and extremely difficult to handle. Just like we are accommodating Jim’s quirks and issues in a million ways, Myc, John, Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Lestrade would have done the same for me. I never thanked them, never ever acknowledged their contributions. I always thought I was a one-man army, that alone protects me. But I was never alone. I had all those people with me, around me, holding an umbrella over my head while I waded out in the rain.”

“Careful Locks,” Sebastian snickered, “You’re becoming emotional.”

 

“Nah, just realistic.”

 

“And philosophical?”

 

“Just being grateful.”

 

“Horny?”

 

“Just…..what?”

 

Sebastian grinned, “Caught you.”

 

Playfulness surged through Sherlock and he jumped up on Sebastian who effortlessly grabbed him and picked him up, propping him against the counter and kissing him madly. Sherlock made aroused little noises as he tangled tongues with the former sniper, threading his fingers through the blond mane as they swapped spit and moans. At one point his hand was on Sebastian’s crotch and Sebastian’s hands had a full grip on his buttocks, when something crashed and broke somewhere in the house.

 

“JIM,” Sherlock jumped to his feet.

 

“Kitten,” Sebastian sprang out of the kitchen doorway.

 

They ran through the lower floor, checking every possible room and hallway en route, but didn’t find Jim anywhere. “Upstairs,” Sherlock pointed and together they rushed up the stairwell, calling out Jim’s nicknames. No answer came, causing both men to assume the worst.

 

The whole scenario changed the moment they entered the bedroom though. The two full-grown men stood still, pricks stiffening and eyes as round as saucers, as they took in the handiwork of James Isaac Moriarty. The entire room was bathed in iridescent candle lights, a soft and sweet cherry blossom scent floating in the air, the windows left open to let in the cool late spring breeze. A trail of crushed rose petals led to the bed on which was spread out a beautiful satin aqua blue duvet. Heart shaped balloons floated over the bed (They later learned they were attached to the ceiling with near-invisible threads) and a variety of scented lube, sex toys and some other ‘erotic’ items stood on the nightstand.

 

In the middle of the bed, naked as the day he was born and wearing nothing but a wolfish grin and a pink bow-tie around his neck, was Jim Moriarty.

 

“Hello boys.”

 

“Huhhnnnn,” Sebastian went. He couldn’t respond. The words had dried up.

 

“What language was that?”

 

Sebastian tried to speak again but ended up letting out a moan.

 

“What about you Sherly?”

 

“Gulp.”

 

“Okay I don’t follow that language either.”

 

Jim looked at them with a wicked grin and said, “I put in so much effort and none of you even have one word of praise for it? Very bad! But no harm done, if you’re suffering from the ‘stupor’ syndrome them I have a way to snap you out of it.” He did something outrageous at that point and even for a seasoned stud like Sebastian or a sexy bloke like Sherlock, it was way too much to bear.

 

Jim went on all fours, faced the other side, and wriggled his perfect lily-white bum at them. As they stared they saw a sleek vibrator sticking out of Jim, shiny with lube.

 

“Bastard prepared himself,” Sebastian was palming himself over his crotch.

 

“I need to fuck him,” Sherlock had his hand inside his trousers.

 

“No, my turn first detective.”

 

“No way sniper, you use the mouth, I use the arse.”

 

Jim watched the mock argument, still on his knees and in that ridiculously obscenely hot pose, looking over his shoulder with a cunning smile on his lips. As the two men jostled mentally and sparred verbally about what ‘Jim-Jim likes’ and what ‘Jimmy prefers’, he finally called time-out on the whole discussion by clapping his hand a few times. “Shush children, time to listen to adults. I must say you have forgotten the very reason all of us are here, together, in bloody Hong Kong. You’ve forgotten why you’ve been sleeping together off and on over the past week and groping and kissing in the kitchen. Not to mention you’re not realizing why the bedroom is decorated like the whorehouse’s best offering.”

 

“Jim, I’m going to cream my pants,” Sherlock cribbed.

 

“And I will burst a nut,” Sebastian snorted.

 

“You idiots,” Jim snapped, “I mean to say…..why can’t you both fuck me together?”

 

They looked so bewildered that the mastermind began to laugh. “It is called ‘double penetration’ by the way.”

 

“We know what it’s called,” Sherlock said, “Just that….”

 

Jim tilted his head, “Just what?”

 

“Just that we are not sure if it won’t hurt you,” Sebastian said, “I mean, I am not normal-sized and Sherlock isn’t too bad either. Both of us into that tiny little space….”

 

“And here I thought that was the biggest fun?” Jim cackled with laughter and lay down on the bed, lifting both legs to give them a magnificently open view of his private parts.

 

With a sound close to a growl the two men lunged at him. Clothes went flying in all directions and yelps, moans, groans, pants and howls rose in the air as they quickly became a tangled heap of limbs. Jim was soon sandwiched between the two men and desperately rubbing his cock against Sebastian while pushing back against Sherlock’s erection.

 

Sherlock thanked all the Gods he knew that he had not only practiced self-control and delayed gratification with Jim but also established a comfort zone in bed with Sebastian. Without either of them he would have come embarrassingly fast or become spectacularly uncomfortable and frigid. Right now he felt like the king of the world who not only welcomed this experience but also found a million ways to better it.

 

He grabbed Sebastian’s head and kissed him, their mouths inches from Jim’s who was trapped between them. At first Jim watched, then he started to wriggle and rub and moan between them, shamelessly aroused and abundantly provocative.

 

“I need those lips too, those tongues,” he confessed in a husky whisper, “All over me, everywhere.”

 

“He is demanding, isn’t he?” Sebastian said with a wink. Sherlock agreed with a nod and, along with Sebastian, they began to kiss Jim in turns. While one of them kissed the Irishman, the other nosed his way down and licked and mouthed at his erection and family jewels. Jim’s hips jerked and shuddered and for a few moments he didn’t know whether he should thrust up into the hot mouth or push back into the toy that was vibrating against his prostate. His kisses grew rough and biting and his hands clawed all over Sebastian’s back and Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock was sure at some point Jim managed to break their skin and draw blood.

 

“Nnnnhhhh,” Jim stopped them and fell on the bed, “I need to be fucked.”

 

“Together, with the toy?” Sebastian asked, licking the insides of Sherlock’s thighs while his hands stroked Jim’s calves and went up towards his pubes.

 

“No, I just want both…..”

 

“What?”

 

“I said I want both of you.”

 

“Say it fully, complete the sentence.”

 

Sherlock giggled, catching on quickly. If Jim could play with them, then so could they. “Just say ‘I want both your dicks inside me, filling me to the brim, right now’. And we will do it.”

 

“Fucking ganging up on me, you will both pay for this,” Jim growled. His cock was leaking like a popsicle in the sunlight. He took the toy out of his arse and tossed it away with such force it skidded across the room. “Okay here goes. ‘I want you two fucking idiots to show me a good time. I want to feel both your dicks dancing inside me, making me feel so full I can feel them at the back of my throat, right now’. That good enough for you to start the real thing?”

 

“More than enough,” Sherlock confirmed.

 

“More than good,” Sebastian added.

 

“How do you want me then?” Jim asked, waggling his eyebrows.

 

***

 

Sherlock had once read a steamy and erotic novel, to help him understand the mindset of a serial rapist and abusive man who hid behind the mask of a wealthy society gentleman with a philanthropic side. In that he had read a line ‘I felt I was going to die from sheer pleasure’.

 

He was sure at this point in time this was the situation for him, where those words echoed loudly in his head as blood pounded through his body and right into his cock.

 

Jim was a treat for sore eyes as he lay on his back, arse raised with three pillows beneath it, one of his legs on Sherlock’s shoulder and the other on Sebastian’s, taking the twin intrusion like a pro. At first he had groaned and shifted slightly with the discomfort of being full but within minutes the picture had changed. Now he was like a slut, asking for more, still more, insatiable and lusty to the core. His skin was flushed all over, the deepest blush spread right to his chest, his twin nubs erect and hard on his chest, obscenely hot noises coming out of his open mouth as he pushed back bravely on the two dicks.

 

Sherlock turned his head and his eyes fell on Sebastian. In close quarters the man looked younger, more open and vulnerable than he could have ever imagined this formidable man to be. Sweat shone at his temples and drool escaped the side of his mouth as he fucked Jim hard, holding Jim’s leg with one hand and squeezing Sherlock’s butt with the other. His enormous dick, now slick with lube and their earlier release inside Jim’s snug passage, rubbed in the most delicious manner against Sherlock’s equally turgid and hot erection.

 

It was all too much and Sherlock felt his body act like a traitor, threatening to climax for a second time in just ten minutes.

 

He heard a severe panting sound and realized it was he who was making them. Embarrassed, he tried to rein those sounds in but a hard thrust from Sebastian made him cry out loud instead. Instantly Jim’s hips jerked and those smoldering eyes locked with Sherlock’s.

 

“I….I am gonna…”

 

“Ji….Jimmy…”

 

“Cum.”

 

“Cum for uzzz kittenn,” Sebastian sped up, “I’m gettin’ clos’rr.”

 

_So I am not the only one close to losing it. Even the legendary Sebastian is on the edge and Jim is all but consumed with the need to shoot. Fuck, they look sexy, fuck I am gonna cum, fuck I can’t hold it any longer!_

 

Sherlock felt his dick erupt and through the hot haze of his orgasm he felt contractions and throbbing around his spurting cock, indicating that his lovers were about to cum too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storyline picks up again next chapter.


	28. Lady Smallwood's Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Sherlock became a part of Jim's heists, Jim agrees to become a part of Sherlock's 'cases'.

Jim was the one to explode first. His dick let out a stream of clear slick at first as his moans rose like a tidal wave. Seconds later creamy spurts painted his naked torso, shining like streaks of molten pearl on his blushing, crimson hued skin. In that condition of extreme pleasure and sensations, Jim’s arms randomly struck out on all sides and his legs tensed up and pushed his men backwards. A few things fell off the nightstand, a pillow landed on the floor and Sherlock felt a random slap to his ribcage.

 

“Uhhhhh,” Jim went, arching up as he came. Then ‘aaahhhh’ with every spurt of semen.

 

Sebastian sped up but a minute into that cadence, he slowed down again, beginning to get slightly disoriented. Jim’s arse was now swimming with the release from his lovers. Sherlock and Sebastian had cum barely three or four minutes into entering Jim and then Sherlock had cum again some ten minutes later. That, along with the lube which they had used in abundance, made it hard for Sebastian to cum for a second time as the anal canal was now overwhelmingly slippery. Sherlock surprised himself completely by the way he not only recognized the other man’s predicament but also by offering him a suggestion that would have put a porn star to shame.

 

“Pull out and fuck his mouth.”

 

“Locks!!!”

 

“You heard me. Let me watch.”

 

“Mmmm, isn’t my Sherly a dirty boi now?”

 

“Oh yeah Jim! He’s a babe!”

 

Sebastian pulled out and straddled Jim’s face, guiding his cock right into Jim’s eager and open mouth. The moment the Irishman started to suck, Sebastian threw his head back and howled with his impending orgasm.

 

The next moment something unexpected happened and the sniper let out a loud, choking gasp. He felt Sherlock press his entire naked front to his back, rubbing and grinding against him while licking and sucking on his right ear. Barely had Sebastian begun to grapple with the various sensations and touches, when he noticed how Sherlock’s hands came up and started to pinch his nipples.

 

“Holy Moses!!!”

 

Sebastian came like a sailor who had been denied a proper conjugal life for months and then sent to the hottest of hookers. His release was so copious that Jim had to spit some out or he was in the danger of choking from it. As Sebastian swayed unsteadily above him and trembled through the aftershocks of his release, Sherlock steadied the man and held him upright, not letting him crush Jim who was lying beneath them and at their complete mercy. The blonde muttered a ‘thanks man’ and rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, gratefully drawing in great gulps of air.

 

“Easy now?” Sherlock asked when he finally released Sebastian and let him fall down on the mattress next to Jim.

 

For a while it was all quiet in the bedroom save for their panting breaths, occasional moans and soft whines. Jim lay like a little sacrificial lamb, spent and limp, between his two taller and larger lovers. He had a hint of a smile on his lips and a mischievous gaze in his huge dark eyes. He hooked a leg over Sebastian’s thighs and snaked an arm over Sherlock’s abs, keeping his men in place while he stared at the suspended balloons in silence. But Sherlock knew that look all too well. Jim had that ‘impish grin’ on his face and that ‘roguish look’ in his eyes whenever there was some evil scheme ploughing through his head or some wicked idea had suddenly struck him. Usually it meant trouble.

 

“You remember Sherly,” he began, “The couple we met the first day we landed here, the ones who were looking for a private investigator to help rid them of their troubles?”

 

“Yeah, yes?” Sherlock asked eagerly, “I was ‘bout to take the case when you told me I am no longer a sleuth.”

 

“Oh once a sleuth, always a sleuth. I meant that your sleuthing days are temporarily suspended. But now I think it doesn’t need to be that way.”

 

“You mean I can take the case?”

 

“Not I, but we.”

 

“You? YOU! You mean to say we will solve the case together?”

 

“Why not?” Jim pouted, “If we can commit crimes together then why not solve cases together. I always felt we were mirror images of each other. You are me and I am you.”

 

“Gosh Jimmy, is it my birthday?”

 

“Nope. But I can eat cake off you once we are done studying the case notes which you have no doubt made even though you knew you’d not be working on it. Now we can study it together, make our deductions, bounce ideas off each other and tomorrow we take the case. Do remember to ask to be paid or else they’ll never take you seriously.”

 

“Let’s go to your home office,” Sherlock was already sitting up, “Why wait for tomorrow….”

 

“…..When you can do it all today?” Jim giggled. Still naked and smeared with drying semen, the two men rushed out of the bedroom leaving a wide-eyed, bewildered and hugely confused Sebastian Moran alone in bed.

 

“What the fuck just happened?” Sebastian yelled out. When he received no replies at all he grumbled ‘Crazy nut cases, these two seem to have just _found each other_ , the freaks’ and rolled over to settle down to sleep.

 

***

 

Mycroft Holmes studied the reports carefully. As a man of immense intelligence and contacts he had a sheaf of papers before him which gave him the information he needed, right there at his fingertips. For hours he had pored over the data to figure out a pattern. That was what his dad had once taught him to do, to look at data and details and notice either patterns or anomalies. His latest subject of course was Sebastian Moran, the man he had exiled but also given a new identity to start a new life. It was part of his pact with Jim Moriarty and it had worked beautifully for a grand total of a few weeks, before it had all gone downhill with Jim escaping from his high-security containment facility.

 

Now he wasn’t sure if Jim was alive and walking some other part of the earth. His gut told him Jim was there, very much there, but there was no concrete proof or evidence to suggest so. Even Sebastian had been evasive in his responses on such queries, choosing neither to confirm nor deny it.

 

He hated to even think the supposed ‘evidence of being dead’, as left by Jim, was for real. It hurt him to even assume something like that. But with every passing year it was getting harder and harder for him to believe the opposite – that Jim was ‘not dead’. However, the papers in front of him and the summary he had made out of all those numbers, sentences and drawings, suggested a strange pattern in Sebastian’s lifestyle. It suggested that while Sebastian preferred to be home and doing his usual legit business for most of the year, he had of late started to disappear for weeks with no coordinates offered to those who worked for him.

 

“Hmmm, used to travel to Singapore often, always due to some business,” he spoke aloud to himself, “The last two times in the past six months he wasn’t in Singapore at all. Usually he visits Singapore once in two months. There we have it, anomaly and pattern.”

 

The anomaly was that Sebastian had chosen not to visit the business hotbed he was so partial to traveling to. The pattern was that he was going off somewhere unknown, using probably a private jet, and leaving no tracks or trails behind to trace his whereabouts.

 

“This means he joined James this year. James must be traveling.”

 

Mycroft looked closely at Sebastian’s spends and credit card details, all under the new name of course. Then the corners of his mouth curled and he whispered, “And James’ base is in Singapore, because that’s where Sebastian used to head before. If business isn’t impacted by his presence there, or the lack thereof, then he was going there to be with James. This also means that James is not in Singapore, therefor the colonel doesn’t feel the need to go there.” He paused and lit a cigarette, a low-tar one, “The question is, why is James traveling suddenly? New business? A new web? Is he traveling with Sherlock?”

 

“This obsession had to end,” a female voice cut through the silence and Mycroft nearly dropped the cigarette he held between his fingers.

 

Mycroft tried to look cool but his threshold was slowly getting breached. Lady Smallwood getting involved in this was a very bad idea. Not only did she have a soft spot for Mycroft, she unfortunately also happened to be a rather bright woman with her own methods of finding out what was going on. Once she smelled a rat, she would ensure everyone around her smelled the entire ocean. “Well my lady,” he blew out a ring of smoke stylishly and adjusted his tie, “I am obsessed with my work because I am extremely passionate about it. I doubt if you would have any objections to that.”

 

“Your work is MI5 and MI6 projects and the interests of the country,” she said, “Not following the trail of an infamous criminal mastermind who apparently is dead. We even have a grave for him, unmarked and unnamed, but it’s there.”

 

“You know what that grave is for Elizabeth,” Mycroft replied, “It’s to make a lot of people comfortable that Jim Moriarty is six feet under.”

 

“What if it really is Moriarty in there. We did the DNA.”

“He is Moriarty. He can find a thousand ways of implanting his DNA on that corpse.”

 

“Let his ghost rest Mycroft. Forgive him, forgive yourself, move on.”

 

“If only it were so easy.”

 

“For a reasonable and detached man like you, there must be a very compelling cause for such dubiousness. Or is it because you want him back, for yourself?”

 

Mycroft looked at her with sarcasm pouring out of his eyes and smile, “Are you always so quick to jump to conclusions for everything or is today a special occasion Elizabeth? I am merely doing my job, with special focus on the country’s interests, and I don’t need to answer anyone.”

 

“Maybe you don’t,” Lady Smallwood said, “But I do. I had approved two things for you, risking my own neck. Your brother’s exile and giving James Moriarty a clean chit. Sherlock I can understand but with the Moriarty request you actually went awry. He was supposed to be of great help to us, to MI6, to the country’s weapon development project and instrumental in tracking down all possible terrorists and criminals that pose a threat to our nation. You let him slip through your fingers because……”

 

“Because he is a wily man.”

 

“No, because you were doing the job with a very personal flavor. That is absolutely not done. We had to burn bridges and build tunnels to strike James Moriarty’s name off the ‘wanted’ list, list him as Richard Brook who acted under the orders of an international warlord, create a new identity for him and allow him to keep most of his wealth. Within months the whole thing went kaput but even for that I forgave you. I can see how people react when they love someone, when they are trying to protect them. You got possessive, obsessive, you stifled him. But he’s gone now. Alive or possibly dead, he has never messed with us again. In a way he has kept his end of the deal and we have no reason to obsess over him anymore.”

 

“I am not obsessing over him because he is a threat to us.”

 

“Then why?”

 

“Because I am…..”

 

“You are?”

 

“What? I didn’t say a word.”

 

“I am a woman,” Lady Smallwood offered a shallow and mysterious smile, “While men hear what has been said, women hear what hasn’t even been said. I understand what you’re getting at Mycroft. You want him back. And that’s where I feel you should let go. Things or people that don’t come back to us after we let them go were probably never ours. I bet this mountain of papers is all about tracking Moriarty down while you could be excused for putting in a similar effort to trace your brother instead.”

 

“It is about Sherlock,” Mycroft confessed, seemingly at ease again after a brief period of angst, “I have reason to believe Sherlock and Jim might be together.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“And now my family knows about my relationship with James.”

 

“Ohhh.”

 

“Look, I need to fix three things at this point. One, I need to find Sherlock and ensure he is safely brought back to London. Two, I need to be sure James is not planning anything on England using Sherlock as a bargaining chip or a vehicle. Three, I have to figure out a way for my family to be convinced that I wasn’t the reason why James has latched himself on to Sherlock suddenly and whisked him off somewhere.”

 

“What if Sherlock agreed or it was Sherlock who whisked James Moriarty off somewhere?”

 

Mycroft gave a bewildered glance to Elizabeth Smallwood, one of those rare moments when he seemed at a loss of words. The member of parliament noticed this and smirked, “Stumped you completely with that, didn’t I?” She stopped Mycroft from lighting up a second cigarette and added, “If I were you I would try a different approach. This will take some time but this can prove to be a very effective trick in calling Sherlock out of the woods and out into the open. Just ensure neither John Watson nor your parents receive any of his letters or gifts, that somehow he gets to know they are in trouble over something. If his letters and packages are returned, it will worry him and if nothing else he will try to reach you.”

 

Mycroft had a newfound respect for her.

 

“Doable,” he said with his typical stoic look.

 

“Once you trace Sherlock and get him out in the open, leverage him to get to Moriarty.”

 

“Sherlock isn’t a fool to allow that.”

 

“That is the biggest weapon in your hands, the fact that Sherlock will do all he can to protect Moriarty. You’d be a bigger fool if you don’t give him the illusion that you’re trying to track Moriarty through him. That will make Sherlock panic and he will end up trying to warn Moriarty about the possible repercussions and since you’d be monitoring him, you can leverage that slip up. The most brilliant minds end up making the worst ever mistakes when they are in emotional turmoil.”

 

The elder Holmes smiled like a fox, “You think Sherlock will get so easily emotional?”

 

“Of course,” she said confidently, “Can’t you see it? He adores Moriarty. If he’s gone with the man then by all means we can also consider him as a ‘bit not good’. Isn’t that what that doctor friend of Sherlock’s says?”

 

At any other time Mycroft might have even made a jovial jibe about that but at that moment he was stunned. “You mean Sherlock has…..no, he won’t, and even if he does it would be to trap Moriarty and get him to….”

 

“Walk down the aisle?” Lady Smallwood said, “Who are you deceiving except for yourself? It seems both the Holmes brothers have fallen for the same man, James Moriarty. And Sherlock, if he has indeed been with Moriarty, has crossed over to the dark side.”

 

***

 

“Mr. Zachary Jackson and Mrs. Kathryn Jackson,” Jim said as he looked at the notes Sherlock had made and some of the photographs of the couple on the net, on their Instagram as well as a few that were on the Facebook walls of their friends, “Combined net worth, a hundred and ninety million dollars. Zach is Canadian American, Kathryn is French American. Met through common friends in college and, after an on-again-off-again relationship they exchanged vows. They have been married for close to ten years.”

 

“Those are just facts I noted,” Sherlock said, brows twitching, “What are your observations and deductions from this?”

 

“Testing me heh?” Jim seemed excited, “Kathryn has had abortions, implants and a nose job done if you look at the pics from the past and the present. Seems different somehow. Past pics from her own insta are gone and the only ones we can refer to are on the FB walls of her friends. In one she has a baby bump showing. Obsessed with her looks, wears lipstick to bed. Zach is similarly obsessed with money and his independence. He holidays mostly without his wife and most of the parties he attends are office bashes. They are the typical couple who look too perfect and too much in love whilst behind the scenes there’s a huge chasm between them.”

 

“Good. But you missed a few points.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Zach has an inferiority complex. Shorter than his wife, so they hardly have pics where they are standing next to each other. He tries his best to look young and cool while he is the exact opposite. The tinted eyelashes, remnants of a hastily removed face mask around the jawline…”

 

“How will this help with the case?” Jim asked.

 

“It might,” Sherlock argued, “See how Kathryn drinks herself silly at parties, always when her husband isn’t with her, she has even had a rehab some time ago if you notice the handmade card behind her in that pic, on the mantelpiece. Her niece made it I think, congratulating her on completing her stint and staying sober.”

 

“Again I ask,” Jim said, “How will it help the case?”

 

Sherlock scowled, “Of course it would. It always does. Let’s meet them tomorrow and….”

 

“No need.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Because I know who is the root of all evil here. In other words, I solved the case for you.”


	29. I will find you both

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manipulative Mycroft cranks up his plans to get to Jim and Sherlock

“Mycroft!!!”

 

“Well, mummy, I thought I could visit my parents any time I wish to.”

 

The first-born Holmes son looked uncharacteristically downbeat and remained just outside the doorway even though the door was wide open. Mrs. Eugenia Holmes rolled her eyes and stepped aside, “Yes of course you can but since that’s not usually what you do, allow me to show a moment of surprise. Now come on right in, it’s going to rain tonight and I don’t want you to step inside with muddy shoes and dripping water all over my carpet.” She watched him curiously for a few moments and said, “I was thinking of preparing your favorite noodles and stir-fried chicken for dinner tonight. Maybe you could stay a bit longer and eat with us, is that possible?”

 

To her further surprise, Mycroft said, “I was thinking maybe I’ll leave after breakfast tomorrow morning.”

 

“Oh…..of course, please do that. Your room is exactly the way you left it years ago.”

 

“You really kept it the way I like it, I noticed that many times. Mummy….can I ask you a question?”

 

“Sure go on.”

 

“How did it feel when we left? I mean, first Eurus left, then I did, then Sherlock. From a five-member family you became just a couple again. How did you cope with it?”

 

“You mean cope with people leaving?” Eugenia motioned for him to join her in the kitchen, “Well, I was fortunate enough to be so busy with my chores and errands around the house and my work outside it that I had little time to sit around and mope. But some weekends were pretty bad and I felt rather desperately lonely. But then you think ‘My kids are all doing well, they are safe and healthy and alive, I can be thankful for just that’. Of course, that’s what I thought for you and Sherlock. Um, I mean with Eurus it was different, it was a bit of a shocker when we heard that…..however, now it’s much better since I get to see her once in a while again.”

 

“That doesn’t sound easy,” Mycroft handed her the eggs she was asking for.

 

“Never said it is easy,” his mother answered, “We can’t go through life thinking it’s going to be easy. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t.”

 

“Isn’t it better to not have any attachments in the first place?”

 

His mother broke the eggs into a bowl and started whisking, “It’s like saying let’s not eat because I might later have to take a shit.”

 

“MUMMM!”

 

“Oh sorry,” she smiled at his obvious embarrassment, “Sometimes I forget how ‘proper’ you are. You see Myc, sometimes it’s not even in your hands. You can’t help who you love, you can’t choose who you’d start caring for, you can’t even select those people you get attached to. These things just happen. Everything in this world isn’t programmed to work under instructions or caution. I didn’t expect to fall in love at twenty-four. I was supposed to be married with a kid by then. But I resisted, I said no to several ‘friends’ and some suitors, continued to do my post grad in mathematics, till I ran into a dashing young scientist. That was your dad. And then…..”

 

“Three kids happened?” Mycroft asked with a fond smile.

 

“Precisely. And the first born just made me very happy by offering to stay overnight with us. Wait till your dad returns and finds out.”

 

“I’ll play chess with him, he likes that. And I’ll watch a sitcom with you, something you’d appreciate for sure.”

 

“Oh yeah. Sounds incredible. Give me one more egg please.”

 

“Mum?”

 

“Uhhunn?”

 

“What if Sherlock returns from his hiatus with someone in tow and introduces him to you as ‘here is my partner and future spouse’?”

 

“That would be lovely, in fact that would make me very happy indeed. In fact your dad and I would be thrilled if they set a wedding date. Maybe then we might even have a grandchild or two. You see son, I never openly voiced this but it’s slightly difficult to watch all three of your kids grown up but with no kids of their own. From a home which once boasted of three young voices echoing around it, we have come down to silence and adult talk.”

 

“If I wish to marry too?”

 

“Are you trying to tease me Myc?” She said with a dismissive smile as she took the egg Mycroft had just taken out of the egg tray, “I should have known.”

 

“What if we both like the same man?” Mycroft asked, watching his mother’s expression keenly. She was intelligent, she would clue in very quickly.

 

As it turned out, she did clue in quickly but he hadn’t anticipated her reaction to that. The egg fell from her nerveless fingers and she gasped. “You are both in love with that Irish boy James, the famous criminal?!?”

 

She looked as if she would collapse any moment. Mycroft grabbed her arm but she slowly loved away, leaning against the island and trying to make sense of this conundrum. “That also means, James is very much alive and Sherlock might have run off with him?”

 

Mycroft simply nodded. He had done this for a reason and even though his mother’s shaking hands and pale face worried him, he knew the end result would be well worth it. “Oh God, so that was what all those questions were about,” Eugenia clasped her mouth in shock, her voice strained, “You’re going to throw it back at me, won’t you? You can’t help who you love, who you fall for, who you care about…..Myc, this isn’t just about you and your brother falling for the same man, but for a man with a disreputable past and an uncertain future. H-How do you know he isn’t playing the two of you, a-are you sure he doesn’t intend to finish you both off by turning you against each other?”

 

“You’re right mum,” Mycroft said in a voice that reflected both concern and fear, “He intends to hurt us and that starts by hurting you and dad first. This is also a matter of national security, which means I need to active plan B.”

 

Eugenia’s eyes went wide, “You mean…..”

 

“Yes mum. Daddy and you have to shift to an unknown location. Even Sherlock must not know or else it will be fatal, for all of us.”

“But what if Sherlock tries to contact us, or comes back here to check on us?”

 

“My surveillance team will monitor this place and your phone 24/7. His messages will be passed on to you.”

 

“I have to talk to your dad.”

 

“No worries mummy, I will talk to him. You just tell me when and I’ll have you both shifted. I was thinking of a nice beachside villa in Hawaii. Right next to a golf course and with a ladies club close by where they have cooking classes, music classes and lots of charity events.”

 

She sighed, “Yes I admit it’s the perfect place for us. We love the sea and warm weather and those things you mentioned are our hobbies. But that’s not home Myc, this is our home.”

“And it shall continue to be your home,” Mycroft wrapped an arm around her, “Nobody will dare take it from you. When you’re back, you’ll find things just the way they are today. By then, I am sure Sherlock would also be home and safe.”

 

“Myc…. We will move if we have to. But the problem still remains, something that could cause a huge misunderstanding between you and your brother. Tell me the truth, do you love James Moriarty? I mean, do you still love him?”

 

Mycroft avoided looking into her eyes and casually remarked, “Nope. Not anymore. It was an infatuation, a mere phase, and that’s passed.” He paused for a moment, cleared his throat and added, “Caring is not an advantage.”

 

***

 

John was sitting alone in the living room of 221B Baker Street, trying to watch television but not enjoying a moment of it. He swapped channels with a sulk on his face, uninterested in any of the shows, movies or news programs that were on at that hour, his cup of tea getting cold on the coffee table in front of him. From time to time he stared at the chair Sherlock used to occupy, a chair where he had placed a giant stuffed teddy bear with Sherlock’s deerstalker hat on its head. “Well,” he spoke to the bear the way Sherlock used to talk to the skull, “What are you looking at? Not my fault you don’t have a case at this time and you’re bored.”

 

“Doctor Watson, are you out of your mind?”

 

John stood up so fast that it was almost comical. To his utter surprise he saw Anthea, whom he now knew as Anita Myers, standing at the doorway with a shocked look on her face. “Anthea,” he let out an embarrassed squeak and made an expansive gesture with both hands, “I am so sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. The door was open and….well you came in. I was just watching TV and then there was this bear and I am not…..it’s not what it looks like. I can tell you I was just rehearsing for a……okay, you got me here. I pretend that stuffed animal is Sherlock and talk to it when I miss him too much.”

 

“I am sorry,” the MI6 operative said, “I shouldn’t have made such an insensitive comment.”

 

“No, why should you be sorry? It did look rather stupid.”

 

“It’s not stupid. You have every right to miss a friend as dear to you as Sherlock is.”

 

John sat down heavily on a chair, “I wish I could talk to him, just once.”

 

She slowly walked around the chair and touched the teddy on the head, “It is cute. Who gifted this to you?”

 

“Nobody. I bought it. I just wanted to put something there and Big Mister Furry was on sale. So I just bought him and…..hey, what brings you here?”

 

“I have been fired.”

 

John gasped, “No.”

 

“I was asking for it,” she said sadly and sat on the couch, “I antagonized the big boss, I broke into his house, I let the cat out of the bag and embarrassed him in front of his family. Only an angel would have forgiven me after that.”

 

“I see it now, I see and I understand,” John said, getting up and heading towards the kitchen, “The MI6 can’t have angels in it because the job requires a different spirit. I do see Mycroft’s point too, his private life came out in the open and he looked like a fool. Anyone in his place would react rather badly to that. His wounds also got scratched up and exposed and he was left bleeding emotionally. From what I understood, he still loves Jim Moriarty while Jim probably wants Sherlock. It’s a big, dirty mess and unless Sherlock is back here and with us, we can’t even make a move against him. The bargaining chip is in his hands at this moment. Um….would you like to have a cup of tea?”

 

“Sure, I’d love that,” she said, resting her hands on her knees, “John, I did what I did in order to protect him. I saw he was getting obsessive about Moriarty and knew there was something he was hiding from his past, hence I took that decision. I never expected he would fire me though. Maybe he could have transferred me to a different unit or demoted me to the status of a secretary. He just plucked me out and tossed me away.”

 

“I am sorry Anthea,” John threw the cold tea away and started a fresh pot, “Darjeeling?”

“Yes. Darjeeling sounds nice.”

 

“So, you were saying?”

 

“I haven’t stated the purpose of my visit yet.”

 

John looked at her curiously, “You came to see me because you were upset and needed to talk? Or have I got this completely wrong?”

 

“I did want to talk,” Anthea lowered her voice and walked closer to John, picking up the remote on the way so she could turn up the sounds of the television, “But one can’t talk while half the world is listening, can they?”

 

John clued in quickly, “You mean the flat is bugged?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Then….?”

 

“Before I left, I found out something that scared the living daylights out of me. John, this is about Sherlock. Moriarty had tried to hurt you, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade once so Sherlock would jump off the Barts rooftop. What stops him from doing something like that again? I have it on good authority that Moriarty knows where Sherlock is and would attempt something like this again. That’s why, both you and Mrs. Hudson need to vacate 221B and leave as soon as possible. If required, I will help you.”

 

John looked totally taken aback.

 

“I know this is very distressing and shocking,” she continued to speak in a low murmur, forcing John to step closer and strain his ears to listen, “But we are talking about the world’s most powerful and intelligent mastermind here. He can do anything. He is crueler than we can imagine. Sherlock is out there, alone, and if he is blackmailed again he might end up doing something stupid. I still have the necessary contacts to cover your tracks and ensure nobody gets to know where you are. Think about it John, think about Sherlock, about your own safety, think about poor Mrs. Hudson. Do it for the old lady if you must. I think you do owe it to her after all she’s done for you and Sherlock.”

 

That worked and John seemed to reconcile himself to the fact that he indeed had to move away. “But will Mrs. Hudson agree?”

 

“We will convince her.”

 

“And where do we go?”

 

“Glasgow. It’s only a matter of a few weeks. Things will be better by then. I am sure Sherlock will either come back on his own or Moriarty will be captured.”

 

John handed her the cup of steaming liquid and absentmindedly sipped his own. The hot liquid stung his lips and he cursed, nearly dropping the cup on the table. “Careful now,” Anthea quickly dabbed his chin with her handkerchief, “You could have gotten scalded.”

 

John looked into her eyes, grey green and sparkling, her smile alluring and very feminine despite the work she did and the tough cookie that she was. She was indeed very attractive. Maybe at a different time he might have even fallen for her but right now his worries about Sherlock overrode all other feelings. “You love Mycroft, don’t you? Then why are you so sure Mycroft will treat Moriarty like a prisoner? He felt sorry about the way he treated him last time so maybe this time he will make amends. He will treat Jim like a prince.”

 

“In other words I will never be loved by the man I love?” Anthea sighed.

 

“Precisely,” John shrugged, “Sorry I put it so bluntly.”

 

“No, you did nothing wrong. Look, when you love someone you just want them to be happy. If my boss….ex-boss is happy being with Moriarty, or some giant narwhal, then who am I to get all cranky about it. I will be happy for him. But that doesn’t mean I will ever stop fearing Moriarty.”

 

“You are right,” John said, “Only an idiot take Moriarty lightly.” He thought for a few moments and said, “Let’s go and explain this to Mrs. Hudson. And Anthea…..thank you so much. In a way it’s good that I’ll get to leave London for a few days. This flat holds too many memories of Sherlock and I doubt if I could ever be rid of his shadow while I am living here. Glasgow sounds nice, I think I’ll be okay there. Thanks again.”

 

“No problems at all John,” she smiled, “Um….may I use the bathroom?”

 

“Of course, sure, this way please,” John led her towards the bathroom, opened the door and switched on the lights, “Here you go. Um….If you don’t mind, can you join me at Mrs. Hudson’s flat afterwards. Finish your tea and then come over, in about ten minutes. I am going downstairs to talk to her, to give her some background and why she has to agree to this plan. It won’t be as easy as we think because she is very attached to this house and to her life here. But once she understands, once she knows I will be there too, she might just agree. By the time you join us, I might have done the needful.”

 

“Good thought,” she said, “See you in a bit.”

 

She smiled and watched as John left the flat but the moment she heard his footsteps going downstairs, the smile was wiped off from her face. She didn’t use the bathroom, instead she slipped into Sherlock’s bedroom and quickly whipped out her phone. After checking the hallway to see if John was coming back, she dialed a number. The combined sounds of the rush hour traffic outside and the television inside the flat meant her voice wouldn’t be audible to anyone unless they stood within two feet of her.

 

“Boss?”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“He agreed. He is even convincing Mrs. Hudson.”

 

“Good. They must start as quickly as possible. Mummy has convinced daddy. In two weeks they can leave.”

 

“I think I can convince John to leave even sooner, probably by the end of his week.”

 

“Fantastic.”

 

“Boss, I hope I am forgiven. I know I intruded into your privacy, made unauthorized connects with your family and embarrassed you before them. I want to make it up to you, I truly want to apologize and get back in your inner circle.”

 

“You could get back. If John and Mrs. Hudson are out by end of this week, you’re forgiven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note - Anthea is only trying to save her job and stay close to the man she ha affections for. She is human.


	30. No Emotions Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sherlock solve a case together

Kathryn and Zachary Jackson sat with anxious expressions on their faces as Jim and Sherlock stood in the corner of the room and discussed the case in hushed whispers. They made animated gestures at each other, smiled and laughed, while frequently glancing at the couple as if they couldn’t decide how to break the news. Finally, Kathryn’s patience ran out and she asked, “So, who is doing this to us? We have never harmed anyone, we don’t have any enemies, we just live our lives quietly and peacefully.”

 

“Quietly and discreetly yes, but peacefully isn’t a word I’d choose,” Sherlock said. He went back to his discussion with Jim again.

 

Zachary threw them a puzzled glance while Kathryn was dumbfounded. She opened and closed her mouth twice without getting even a single sound out. After almost ten minutes of torturous tension, Jim and Sherlock took their seats on the couch opposite from the couple. “You know, the best way to hide facts is to give other people a visual illusion of the truth,” Jim began to explain, his eyes shining with mischief, “For example, when kids don’t believe in Santa Claus, we switch on the television and show them an animated show about Father Christmas. That doesn’t make him real, it’s just a way to convince the child that he really exists.”

 

“I’m afraid we don’t understand,” Zachary said impatiently.

 

“Neither did we, not at first anyways.”

 

“Is someone trying to kill us or not?”

 

“After what you two have done, I wouldn’t be surprised if they did.”

 

“What?”

 

Kathryn got up, “Come on, let’s go. They are just wasting our time.”

 

“You sit down Miss Eileen.”

 

Kathryn literally fell down on the couch after that. Zachary turned towards her and snapped, “You drank too much and let it slip to somebody, didn’t you? Didn’t I tell you to hold your tongue you stupid fucking bitch?”

 

“Oh no, please don’t blame her,” Sherlock laughed, his tone condescending, “Neither my partner nor I need a drunken broad to spill the beans to us. We knew this from our special talent, the art and science of deductive reasoning.”

 

Zachary started to sweat. “I-I don’t know wh-what you mean.”

 

“Eileen and Kathryn,” Jim explained, “Twins. We could see that you never liked your wife, never spent time in her company, never bought her expensive gifts. Suddenly you’re vacationing together, she has recently been gifted thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry and that too just months after your mother in law passed. Isn’t that because you kept your long-suffering wife locked in a hideout while you pretended to play house with your sister in law? The same sister in law who left home at a young age and was mostly presumed to be lost or dead.”

 

“The only impediment was the mum,” Jim continued while Zachary’s nostrils flared with rage, “So the moment she was gone, you guys put the plan into action.”

 

“Don’t bother to contradict,” Sherlock added, face expressionless and his fingers steepled under his chin, “We have done our homework. We found out from your friends that your wife has not been seen for quite a few weeks at any social gathering. We even checked for her fingerprints and DNA and while the DNA was a match, they are twins after all, the finger prints were not. You planned to kill your wife once she signed over her share of the wealth to you. You’d then continue to live with Eileen and call her Kathryn. Okay, stop trying to form a defense statement in your head because yours is a lost cause. We found your poor wife and she is right here with us. Kath, come out please.”

 

A bloodied, rain thin and scared woman walked out.

 

Eileen gasped, “No, no no no, you told me she will never get to know…..”

 

“I do, I always knew, how long have you two been fucking behind my back?” Kathryn asked.

 

“Bitch, just leave me alone,” Zachary stood up and suddenly produced a small automatic revolver from his pocket, one of the China or Taiwan made ones that were easily available in Hong Kong if one knew the right person, “All right, if I go down I take you down with me too.”

 

Sherlock lunged at Zachary while Jim, in a rather uncharacteristic move, jumped on Kathryn and pushed her down. A bullet was fire and it missed Jim’s head and Kathryn’s face by inches and smashed a painting hanging on the wall.

 

Eileen screamed and fainted while Sherlock knocked Zachary out with three smashes of his fist on the man’s nose and chin.

 

“Jimmy you okay?” He called out.

 

“I’m good,” Jim raised an arm from behind the couch, where he had landed. “And so is our client Kathryn.”

 

“You bet I am,” the gutsy lady said, “And both of you would be rewarded handsomely for unmasking by beastly husband and bitch of a sister. Oh and you sir,” she turned towards Jim, “Thanks for saving my life.”

 

***

 

“May I know why you’re laughing like a hyena?” Jim asked, clearly vexed, as they drove back home where Sebastian was waiting for them, “Yes, we should have checked if he had a gun on him and we didn’t. It’s not easy being the good guys because good guys carry too much weight on their shoulders. Save him, save her, save yourself last, don’t kill the bad guys because the law wants to wipe their arse, phew!”

 

“Yet you acted like a proper good guy, an angel who saved a woman’s life and earned her gratitude,” Sherlock drove one handed while he rubbed and stroked Jim’s thigh with his free hand, “You do realize don’t you, that just like I crossed over to the dark side a few months ago you’ve stepped out towards the light this afternoon. You risked your neck to save someone and then let the cops do their job instead of finishing Zach Jackson off in some wacko, crazy way.”

 

Jim gave Sherlock a strange look and went very quiet afterwards, so quiet that Sherlock thought maybe he had said too much or said something totally wrong. He wanted to check this with Jim, maybe apologize to the man if needed, but eventually his ego won and he decided to hold his silence till the mastermind came back with a point of his own. After all what had he said which was so wrong? He had merely stated facts and none of it were anything derogatory or insulting. So, if Jim felt bad about anything he should be able to tell Sherlock openly and they would discuss matters later.

 

They went to bed separately that night, something that had been unusual since Jim had his depression episode. Usually they all went to bed together. But Sebastian was the first one to hit the sack since he was supposed to get up early and head back to his base the next morning, then Sherlock joined him an hour later while Jim came to bed much later in the night. By then both Sherlock and Sebastian had fallen asleep.

 

Morning dawned dull and grey, a reflection of Sherlock’s own state of mind, as he watched Sebastian pack up the last of his personal items into two large bags.

 

“Never thought I’d say this,” Sherlock murmured, “But I am going to miss you man.”

 

“I will miss you both,” Sebastian seemed cheerful but there was a wistful look in his eyes, “We will be in touch through facetime and skype, WhatsApp and texts.”

 

“That’s a given.”

“Yeah. But remember we need to be very careful. Your brother thinks Jim might not even be alive. He doesn’t know for sure that you are with him.”

 

“I was thinking, what if he gets to know?”

 

“He won’t tolerate this arrangement Sherlock. All hell will break loose. And even though Jim and I are very dangerous men and you too are a force to reckon with, none of us should get into an open confrontation with Mycroft Holmes. I had told Jim before and I am telling you now, Mycroft is tracking my coordinates, keeps calling me sometimes, and all of that started from the time you left London.”

 

Sherlock nodded, “I guess I was also being overly optimistic about the whole thing. Why would my brother just accept my vague messaging and not do his own investigation behind my disappearance? He would definitely try to find out what’s going on.”

 

“Precisely,” Sebastian lowered his voice and inched closer to Sherlock, “Listen, Mycroft and Jim have a history too. You were not the only Holmes that he locked horns with. Yes, you and he are closer in age and your ways of thinking and operating match. You are both unconventional and unpredictable. But with Mycroft the equation was different. Mycroft was the more formidable adversary and at one point he even had us cornered. I must confess I was the weapon he used against Jim-Jim. That’s why I decided to move away, so I don’t become a disadvantage for my boss.”

 

“Tell me the truth. Do you like this life? Do you really like being away from him?”

“No. But it could be a lot worse than this.”

 

“How?”

 

“I could be behind bars and he could be on the run. Mycroft removed Jim’s name and all charges from the MI5 and MI6 files. He even helped clear the Moriarty name from all international crime records. He helped Jim get a new identity.”

 

Sherlock felt his heart miss a beat. Even for a powerful man like Mycroft, this seemed an uphill task. “He did all of this just to keep Jim away from England?” Sherlock asked, not sure if that could be the only compelling reason.

 

“Yes, as far as I know.”

 

“So you mean you don’t know it all?”

 

Sebastian shook his head, “No. Clearly I don’t. I have even stopped asking. Hey listen, if there is any danger of Mycroft tracking you both down, I might need to go incommunicado for some time. So, don’t panic in case I am not reachable for a few weeks or months.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes went wide, “Weeks? MONTHS?”

 

Sebastian disarmingly held out his arms and Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. “No emotions in this line of work or life Sherlock. You will end up getting hurt all the time. While you may have adapted yourself to the life of a criminal mastermind, adapting yourself to the various sacrifices one needs to make to be with him could still be a bit out of reach. Give it time, you will get more clued in, you’ll know more and adapt more. But whatever happens, don’t take any knee-jerk decisions. Give it a proper thought, put yourself in the other person’s shoes and if needed, call me. Okay?”

 

Whatever Sherlock wanted to say was interrupted by Jim entering the room fully dressed to start the day. “Don’t tell me you’re going to do hugs and tears and kisses as a farewell,” he said in a snide tone, “Don’t be two perfect boring normal idiots now. We all knew Sebastian had to go back at some point. He’s been with us for a whole month, which is more than he has lived with me at a stretch for the past two years.”

 

“Humor us Jim-Jim, even the most cunning criminals deserve their moments,” Sebastian said jovially and grabbed Jim, lifting him off his feet for a few seconds. Jim’s eyes flashed fire and he spewed out a few threats at his former henchman and lover, ordering him to put him back down, until Sebastian finally released him with a kiss on his cheek. Sherlock watched them, wondering what the future held for him. Would he become another Sebastian? Someone who would occasionally get to see Jim but who would never again be a regular in his life. Or would he end up being Jürgen Schultz, a man who was now six feet under the ground because his shelf-life was over a far as Jim was concerned.

 

“Sherly? Stop daydreaming. SHERLYLOCKS?”

 

Sherlock blinked, “Huh?”

 

Jim pointed at him and looked at Sebastian, “If he zones out like this in the middle of an assignment, how long would it take for someone to put a bullet through him?”

 

“A millisecond,” Sebastian answered, “Okay, now ask the question.”

 

Jim scowled, “Since when do you give the orders?”

 

“Since never,” Sebastian said, “But I have to leave now, so hurry up.”

 

“Sherl, I am dropping Tiger to the private airstrip where his jet is waiting for him. You coming along with us?”

 

“No,” Sherlock said, “I’d rather be here. I have said my goodbyes just now.”

 

Sebastian reached out and squeezed Sherlock’s arm, “We will be in touch.”

 

Jim rolled his eyes, “And the sentimental nonsense continues. Sad to see even Tiger has caught on this weird disease. How many times do I have to tell you guys, caring is not an advantage.”

 

Sherlock startled!!!

 

***

 

Soft kisses up his legs and thighs woke Sherlock from a shallow midday nap and he almost threw Jim off with a kick before he realized what was going on. He was lying on the couch still and Jim was trying to get his hand into his shorts while kissing the insides of his thighs.

 

There were a dozen or more reasons Sherlock could think of to stop Jim and say ‘they needed to talk first’ but the traitor of a body he had was quick to betray him. All the words forming in his brain were pushed back when Jim tugged at the elastic waistband of his shorts, intentions amply clear. Sherlock gasped, he felt bolts of pleasure shoot to his groin and within seconds he was rock hard and his toes were curling in anticipation. He grabbed at a cushion and pushed his hips up, assisting Jim as the latter pulled his shorts down and left him naked from the waist below. “Fuck,” Jim looked at Sherlock’s groin where the erect cock stood up proudly from the thatch of dark curly mane, “Always so eager to be devoured, eh Sherly?”

 

“Or to devour,” Sherlock corrected his lover with a snarl, suddenly feeling the need to take over and be the one in control. Before Jim could figure out what was going on or his own mind could stop him from taking the next step, Sherlock threw caution once again to the winds and grabbed Jim with both hands, lifting him up from the couch. He then got up in a smooth motion and threw Jim over his shoulder effortlessly. A small squeak initially left the criminal but within seconds he heard the growls and curses flow out as Jim kicked and punched at him and kept commanding him to put him down or else…..

 

“Stop threatening,” Sherlock smacked Jim’s butt.

 

Jim yelped, “Did you just smack me?”

 

Sherlock smacked him again and said, “Like this? Yes!”

 

“Son of a bitch, I will blow your brains out.”

 

“You have all my permission to do that but only after I fuck your brains out.”

 

Silence fell and Sherlock realized what was happening. He felt Jim’s cock, which was only half hard before, suddenly jerk against his shoulder. He let out a muted chuckle, which only made Jim madder than before.

 

As soon as he had dropped Jim on the bed the mastermind shot up and slapped Sherlock across the face. Stunned for a moment, Sherlock quickly recovered and grabbed Jim’s wrists before he could slap him again. “That’s enough Jim,” he said sternly, “I didn’t say anything you don’t like to do or hear.”

 

“You are being condescending,” Jim struggled to free his hands.

 

“You are being sensitive,” Sherlock shot back, manhandling Jim out of his clothes.

 

Jim tugged at Sherlock’s T shirt till the detective was as naked as he himself was and together they wrestled on the bed, playful one moment and aggressive the next, Sherlock trying to control and dominate Jim while Jim acted like the quintessential rebel and brat, scratching, hitting and biting at Sherlock till he had marked the Englishman all over. Finally, almost ten minutes later, they molded against each other and kissed passionately, their earlier wrestling acting like a hot dose of foreplay. Jim let Sherlock plunder his mouth and Sherlock did that gladly, realizing he had just won the round.

 

“You were very naughty,” he said in a voice even he didn’t recognize, “You need to be punished.”

 

“Punish me,” Jim said meekly. But he was as meek as a wolf in a sheepfold.

 

“I’ll spank you so hard you won’t be able to sit for a day and night.”

 

“Ohhhhh, big bad wolf style?”

 

“Did the wolf plan to spank Red Riding Hood?”

 

“Gnnnn, stop these lame jokes now and do your thing.”

 

Sherlock easily lifted Jim and put him over his knees like one would do with a child. The difference in their heights and sizes helped and Sherlock felt hugely in control as his palms landed on the smooth milky mounds of Jim’s arse. The Irishman moaned one moment, yelped the next and cursed the very next moment, as eclectic and delightfully unpredictable in bed as he was in every other area.

 

Slowly Sherlock began to see the fun in this. The more he spanked Jim, the harder Jim rubbed his cock against Sherlock’s thighs. At one point Sherlock put three fingers inside him, slippery with lube, and with every smack Jim tightened his passage in response, making him feel those long fingers all the more. Watching Jim get so aroused, feeling the responses in his body was enough for Sherlock to get hard as a battering ram and he couldn’t wait to push inside the delightful heat of his lover.

 

Suddenly he heard Jim groan, then still and a small pool of cum jettisoned out on to his thighs as Jim climaxed on his lap.

 

“Oh fuck I need to…..”

 

Sherlock didn’t even finish the sentence. He simply put Jim on all fours and entered him.


	31. Don't fall in love with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim abandons Sherlock for an undefined period

“Fuck me,” Jim begged, “Fuck me harder Sherly, make me feel how big you are, how eager you’re to unload yourself inside me.”

 

“Dirty talk isn’t going to make me cum embarrassingly fast,” Sherlock whispered hotly into Jim’s ears, “Not anymore Mr. Moriarty. You taught me well.”

 

Jim let out a triumphant chuckle which soon turned into a loud moan as Sherlock pushed in real hard and hit his prostate dead on. The slim body shuddered all over and Sherlock could see the little tremors under Jim’s skin, the blush spreading over it, as the Irishman moved closer and closer to another orgasm. His own orgasm was pretty close but Sherlock knew how exactly to slow it down. Every time Jim attempted to goad him into giving in by tightening his arse, Sherlock withdrew his cock till only the head dipped inside. Jim let out appreciative hums at that, happy to note how much Sherlock had come up the learning curve.

 

The whole bed had begun to shake by then. One of the pillows Sherlock and Jim were tugging back and forth tore suddenly and scattered feathers all over the room, some of them landing on the two men locked in passion. It was like an indoor snowstorm.

 

“Uh-uh-uh-uh-uhhhhnnnn,” Sherlock moved too close to the edge and stopped thrusting, shaking all over with the acute need to climax but holding himself back with sheer willpower, his body treacherously treading on thin ice. Any movement and it would all be over.

 

“Gimme a moment,” he croaked out, tensing his legs.

 

Jim suddenly began to move back and forth, fucking himself on Sherlock’s cock with great gusto and speed. The sudden sensations it generated pushed Sherlock over the edge and with a deep groan that was loaded with relief _and_ disappointment, Sherlock felt his load shoot through his cock and flood the channel of his lover. As soon as it happened, Jim let out a howl and came instantly. Apparently the ecstasy of pushing Sherlock to orgasm had acted like a catalyst and caused his own.

 

They kept rocking on the bed and kissing, Jim turning his head to facilitate the lip-lock, till both had gone soft and the connection had snapped. Slowly Sherlock sat up on his knees while Jim rolled away slightly so he didn’t have to lie on his own spunk.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Sherlock gasped.

 

“Where?” Jim drawled, a smile in his voice.

 

“Your butt….”

 

“Hey, definitely not….”

 

“Prick,” Sherlock laughed, “Stop it.”

 

“Now don’t tell me you feel sorry for what you have done,” Jim wriggled his butt and winced slightly when he reached behind and touched the flamed, reddened skin, “Because I loved it and you clearly enjoyed doing that as well. You shot such a big load into me it was almost a deluge. It leaked out instantly, didn’t it?”

 

“Wait a second,” Sherlock said and got out of bed. “Where are you going, Sherly, Sherl, wheeeere?” Jim kept asking but the Englishman didn’t answer. He returned swiftly though, with a wet towel, ice cubes and a soothing ointment. “Hang on a second,” he said, cleaning himself first and then the bed, “I’ll put something on it so it doesn’t sting too much.” He cleaned Jim as gently as possible, moving him very little, and then applied the ice on the reddened skin. At first Jim let out a hiss but soon that turned into soft moans of relief as the cubes moved over the hot skin, cooling it and soothing it gently. Once the cubes had melted, Sherlock tenderly wiped him down and applied the ointment. Jim kept cooing and moaning and humming with pleasure till he felt Sherlock kiss the back of his thighs.

 

“Sherlock stop,” Jim said suddenly.

 

“I will,” Sherlock replied, “I’ve applied the ointment and ice. Nothing more to do. Just lie on your front so you don’t rub it against the sheets or it will sting like a bitch.”

 

“And why do you care if it does?”

 

“Because I…..”

 

“Because why?”

 

“Because I care. I mean, I care about you, it bothers me if you’re hurting.”

 

“That’s what I wanted you to stop Sherlock. Stop caring and stop falling in love with me.”

 

“Too late,” Sherlock sighed, “Already have.”

 

“You fucking asshole,” Jim groaned, seemingly disappointed and showing some true heartfelt anger, “I never promised you a happily ever after. I just said we will do this for a year and it’s only four months to that deadline. Afterwards you will be back in London amidst your friends and family and adoring fans while I might either go back to Sebastian or continue my new web the way I was doing before. This year doesn’t make a difference to our lives, it’s just a year, one year amongst many more years we live and walk on this planet.”

 

“Have you ever heard of living a whole lifetime in one single day Jimmy? Some people do that too. I think one year sounds pretty damned good as compared to that.”

 

***

 

“How is it going John?”

 

John shrugged, “Feels like a paid holiday to me Myc.”

 

Mycroft Holmes took a good look around the detached house with some greenery in front and some grass at the back. A certain upgrade from the cramped flats at 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson seemed happy enough, especially since she had already made friends with a few neighbors and started attending dance classed for veterans, while John seemed okay with his life there but also slightly bored. The MI6 chief made up his mind to get John attached to a local clinic so he had work all day and actually looked forward to some downtime. Then there was also Anthea, a woman John had lately started leaning heavily on for emotional support.

 

“You do know I fired Anita, don’t you?”

 

“So now she is Anita?”

 

“Yeah. Anthea was her moniker while she worked with us. Too bad she didn’t value her job until she lost it.”

 

“She made a mistake. But she must have also done a lot of good work for you at critical and urgent times. What about those? Or it is the typical vengeful boss scenario where one mistake and your good deeds and achievements are wiped out in a single stroke?”

 

“Careful now John,” Mycroft stated in a tone of warning, “I adore you because Sherlock does and I supported your move to Glasgow because I wanted to protect you from the wrath of Moriarty. If you’re suddenly going to turn into an ardent Anita supporter I might just start to lose all my affectionate regards for you.”

 

“You pretend as if you’re offering me charity,” John was angry, “You know very well John Watson doesn’t accept charity, or a bribe, or even a warning. Had Anita not warned me before, would you have really looked out for me and Mrs. Hudson? Nope. You were busy settling your parents somewhere else. I know you had to do that too but at least you could have called and warned me about the danger around the corner. That would have taken you barely two minutes.”

 

“The fact is,” Mycroft’s voice was polished as a sword with a sharp edge, glistening with manipulation, “I eventually did support Anita. Or else she might not have been able to pull this off entirely on her own.”

 

Deep inside he was gleeful that ‘Anthea’ had dunked John deep into a pond of admiration for her. It would be very helpful in the long run to have her claws into John Watson, an otherwise loyal and capable man but emotionally vulnerable and somewhat naïve in his judgment of another person’s character. He would never ever guess that Mycroft and Anthea had gotten back together after their ‘fallout’ over the house search she had conducted with John, he’d never even guess that Anthea herself had come to him apologizing for her mistake and begging to be included in his inner circle. His trust on her had returned and it was a matter of time before it was restored to its former levels.

 

But to John and some others they were former colleagues whose relationship had gone sour. Therefore his outer behavior had to show contempt for her, since he and Anthea were not ‘supposed’ to be on good terms any longer. So he kept up the show till John called truce and decided to steer the topic towards something else.

 

“Fair enough, whatever is between you and her remains between the two of you,” the doctor admitted but added the next words with a dollop of curiosity in his voice, “I am grateful and thankful for your support in helping us escape London and Moriarty’s possible surveillance. Now, may I ask you as to what you’re planning next. Your parents are in a safe zone, we are in a safe house, even Lestrade and Molly are on extended breaks from their work and kept hidden somewhere. Does this mean you are free to attack Moriarty’s weakest spots and bring him back to England or at least trace Sherlock and get him back to London? Or are you hoping your ‘James’ will repent and come back to you, dumping Sherlock on the way?”

 

“I told you before, I no longer wish to be associated with James Moriarty.”

 

“That’s not how it sounded when we had that conversation,” John shook his head, “You sounded like a defeated man when you told me he likes Sherlock, not you.”

 

“I never said he doesn’t like me,” Mycroft shot back, “I just said he cried out Sherlock’s name in bed. Maybe that’s because I didn’t have enough time with him to….”

“To make him forget Sherlock?” John snorted, “Either you didn’t have enough time with him or he didn’t have the inclination to forget. It’s a given that he didn’t forget Sherlock. Because now even I am convinced Moriarty is alive and Sherlock has willingly joined him. I never told anyone about this before but I always knew that Sherlock had a soft corner for the criminal. He was charmed by his cunning mind, wily tricks, his wild side and complex strategies. Believe it or not, Sherlock also thought that Moriarty was alive all these years. It’s all adding up in my head now. They are together and there is no way anyone can separate them until and unless they are bored of each other.”

 

“Watch me,” Mycroft’s face twisted into a rather chilling, creepy rictus, “I will do just that.”

 

With that he walked out of the house without a backward glance, umbrella tip tapping on the floor. John thought that for the first time he had spotted a weakness in Mycroft Holmes - his inability to accept defeat in the matters of the heart. That was many a man’s bane.

 

“John,” Mrs. Hudson walked in minutes later and found him seated on a chair, in deep thought, “Don’t tell me Mycroft had his tea and left? I thought he also wanted some cutlets and salad as a light and early dinner. I just got the food ready.”

 

“Mrs. Hudson,” John said, “How do you identify a jilted lover?”

 

“A jilted lover?” Mrs. Hudson was surprised by the question but didn’t question John back, “Well, I have seen a few. To begin with, they usually don’t like to see their ex happy without them or the fact that they have moved on. But their worst side comes out when their ex hooks up with someone else. At that point they resort to usually three kinds of gimmicks. One, they would badmouth their ex to anyone who cares to listen. Some are too dignified to do that so they choose to pretend they don’t care while secretly stalking their ex. Third behavior that’s typical of a jilted lover is denial. ‘I am sure they haven’t found someone as good as me and will soon repent and come back where they belong, in my arms’. Yes, something like that.”

 

“Makes sense,” John murmured.

 

“But why this question?” She eventually asked, “Is it about Mycroft and Anthea?”

 

“What? No. It’s about someone else.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday John.”

 

“No, you weren’t. It’s just that, I don’t want to comment till I am absolutely sure of my facts.”

 

“Is Anthea behaving like a jilted lover?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Then Mycroft is?”

 

“That’s what I want to be sure of.”

 

She shook her head, “If he is acting like one then it’s about that criminal, James. Clearly Mycroft still loves him or else he wouldn’t have kept those photographs and memorabilia from their brief time together in a secret vault which holds his most precious security related documents. Listen, there are lots of things happening right now that I don’t understand but one thing I do, I sure do. When a man like Mycroft finally falls in love, he wouldn’t fall out of it easily. And unrequited love can become a bitch, a thorn in your flesh.”

 

John heard those words and felt a club hit him on the head, hammering him with realization.

 

Mycroft was not protecting Sherlock. He was isolating Sherlock from everyone who cared for him. But why? What was the intent and purpose?

 

***

 

The day arrived when Sherlock and Jim had to leave Hong Kong and move to their next destination. As always, Jim said it was due to work and a new assignment required their presence in Kenya. For a month or two they’d be there, then onwards to their next stop.

 

Sherlock had stopped looking too far ahead because it always rang bells of a much-dreaded reminder in his head. His time with Jim was limited and somehow Jim had not even once indicated that he was looking for an extension. All of this, everything he currently held in his palms, could suddenly disappear.

 

A few hours before their private jet was supposed to take off, Sherlock was throwing the last of his belongings into several trolley suitcases and duffel bags. He was a last moment packer and since he hadn’t slept well the night before (and several nights prior to that because he had been working with Jim and a couple of his men on creating a perfect code for a secret virtual vault which held top secret files of Columbian drug lords), he had spent most of the early mornings hours passed out on the couch. Even now he felt woozy from lack of sleep but they had to follow a timeline and board Jim’s luxurious Falcon 5X in exactly two hours. He’d catch forty winks on the long flight, if need be.

 

He was zipping up the bag when soft footfalls announced the arrival of his lover.

 

“Sherly.”

 

“Jimmy, I am almost done.”

 

“Um….I….I was saying…..”

 

Sherlock looked at him, “What?”

 

“You’re staying here.”

 

“We aren’t going to Kenya?”

 

“I am going to Kenya but you’ll stay here.”

 

Jim looked vaguely uncomfortable and was refusing to look at Sherlock. A surge of jealousy, annoyance and irritation worked through his system and Sherlock snapped, “No riddles please. I am not in the mood. What happened now?”

 

“Look, this job will take up most of my time and I don’t think we’ll have any time together there, none at all,” Jim began, slightly hesitant and uncharacteristically awkward, “On the other hand there is a Russian job that I have taken up and I need you to monitor and control that remotely from here. It involves a Hong Kong based businessman, who is our client, and he will need our support to get this done. It requires someone’s presence here and you are someone I trust now. You can oversee this while I get the job done in Kenya. In a month’s time we will meet again, here or somewhere else. I will let you know.”

 

Sherlock gripped the bedpost so tight his knuckles turned white. Rage coursed through him and he lashed out.

 

“Tell the truth Jim, just tell me the truth already,” he hissed through his teeth, trying his best not to let his fists do the talking, “You are trying to wean me off your work and yourself. You’re trying to put some distance between us so I can eventually be kicked out one fine day with minimum damages to your web. I know the Russian job, it involves getting a consignment of arms out of the country and into Ukraine and anyone who is part of your second line of command can do this for you. That work in Kenya is a lot more complex and I was part of the team that created the bloody blueprint for it. I should be there, not here. Why won’t you take me with you, do you have another Sherlock there waiting in your bed? Is that so? Is that so?”

 

Jim’s nostrils flared and he shrieked, “YES I DON’T WANT TO TAKE YOU WITH ME YOU JEALOUS BITCH. But no, there is NO Sherlock or anyone else waiting there for me. You stupid fucking moron, you ruined it for us. Don’t you see that? I always told you this was an arrangement, a one-year arrangement, and you still went ahead and made this into some sort of a relationship in your head. I warned you again and again but did you listen to me you stubborn fool?”

 

Sherlock couldn’t help but feel hurt by those sharp words. When he spoke his voice as strained, “I am indeed a fool to have loved a heartless bastard like you.”

 

“Yeah, so that’s it. I am a heartless bastard. I was born mean and I will die mean. Satisfied?”

 

“Take me with you.”

 

“NO.”

 

“Please.”

 

“I said NO. You will stay here and lick your self-inflicted wounds. I want some space between us so you can think about your mistake and find ways to change your approach. Otherwise in a few months you’ll be on your knees in front of me, holding a ring box. Tell me, did I ever…..”

 

“No,” Sherlock hurriedly turned away so Jim didn’t see his tears, “You never promised forever.”

 

“Good,” Jim snapped, “Now don’t act like a woman and start crying or pleading. It disgusts me.”

 

Sherlock didn’t turn or say a goodbye. He stood facing the wall, a lump in his throat. For the first time he felt emotional abandonment. For the first time in months he missed London.


	32. Man in the Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim finally admits he couldn't hold out any longer

Mycroft looked at his latest acquisition and occupation with pride and satisfaction.

 

A beautiful townhouse in a posh London residential street, detached from the other properties and with some greenery around it. It had cost a bomb but then why bother when he had the cash? For the first time in his life he didn’t mind spending it without a care in the world.

 

The first time around he had messed things up but this time would be vastly different. His James would have all the luxuries, comforts and freedom he wished for. He would roam the streets of London and attend gatherings, parties and luncheons with Mycroft. He would even become a member of the Diogenes club. The MI6 chief had even gotten him a new identity. He would be Jeremy Brook, a former Irish military field-intelligence operative who had to quit the army because of a knee injury. He would assume the identity of the elder brother of Richard Brooke, the gullible and unfortunate actor who had ‘died’ on the Barts rooftop, a victim of an international conspiracy against Sherlock.

 

Mycroft had done his homework. Jeremy Brook existed. He was a Major in the army and had died in a freak car bomb incident a few years ago. But like his infamous younger brother, his death too had been shrouded in mystery. Mycroft was convinced he had put together enough fake evidence to show James as Jeremy. Initially people would startle to see Moriarty’s face again but over a period of time they would accept him as a normal London citizen.

 

When Mycroft would introduce him in his influential circles as ‘my companion and partner’, respect and acceptance wouldn’t be a problem. That was Mycroft’s power, his influence, his aura and the authority bestowed on him after years of faithful service to the Queen and nation.

 

He had converted the attic into a modern and well-equipped lab Jim would love to work in. There was also a customization done just for his lover. A huge skylight had been constructed, spanning half the ceiling, which would open up with the press of a button on a remote. Then another press of a different button and a powerful telescope lens would project out towards the sky. Jim could gaze at stars, observe comets and meteors, make his notes.

 

It was a Magellan telescope made especially for lab use, a smaller one but with equally powerful features and output as the full-scale ones used by national astronomical units. It was by far Mycroft’s most prized purchase and his biggest bribe to Jim.

 

A bright yellow Ferrari sports car stood in the garage, next to the black Bentley Mycroft used. There was also a huge Mercedes SUV, a four-wheel drive they could use while on vacation or for off-terrain visits.

 

In the luxurious master bedroom, the ceiling had been painted to look like a beautiful constellation on one side and a meteor shower on the other. With glow in the dark paint and 3D art, it was truly breathtaking and sure to win the heart of an astrophysicist like Jim.

 

Then there was a library that was envy-inducing and stocked with books from around the world, in multiple languages and covering a wide range of topics from molecular biology to kung-foo to Greek mythology. There were several books on those shelves that were out of circulation. Mycroft had pulled all stops to get these from different parts of the world, from private collectors and libraries, just so Jim would have plenty of reasons to want to live there.

 

Now to draw Jim into a trap. That was the last and final step in this game! For that he needed to do something he never wanted to do. But Jim and Sherlock had left him with no other option but to try this method. To lure Jim into the net he had to use his brother Sherlock.

 

A harsh barking laughter caught him by surprise. It echoed around the room and the hallways and stairwell and sounded so sinister it lifted the hair on Mycroft’s head. “Who’s there,” he thundered, not about to show his fear by any means. He swiftly pulled out his gun and prepared himself for a confrontation, cautiously walking out of the master bedroom and heading down the corridor. This house was not yet declared to his unit and hence not under any surveillance, security or safety measures. Yes there was an anti-burglar device, an intruder alarm, a high end security code system to open the doors, but nowhere close to the safety his other house provided.

 

Once again someone laughed, this time much closer.

 

“What the hell,” Mycroft jumped and looked to his right, where he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the full-length mirror. “Fuck,” he cursed, putting the gun back into the shoulder bolster under his jacket, “I scared myself silly for this!”

 

“Scared Mikey? You should be ashamed instead.”

“What? Who are you? YOU!!!”

“Yes of course, it’s me. It’s the Mycroft you seem to have buried because of your lust, your ego, your pride.”

 

“Why am I even listening to you? You aren’t even real.”

 

“I am not real because you chose to abandon me and embrace your dark side. Now I am a voice in your head but I can’t be obliterated, not until you kill your conscience.”

 

Mycroft looked away from the mirror and started walking down the stairs. “Madness,” he shook his head, “This is pure and simple madness.”

 

Again the laughter, this time more mocking and condescending. Again a glimpse of his own image, this time on the front façade of the beautiful grandfather clock he had been gifted by the French ambassador. A rare antique piece which occupied a position of pride at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh for God’s sake,” Mycroft snarled at the reflection, “What do I have to do now? Shatter every glass in the house so I don’t have to tolerate this nonsense? I am very well capable of doing that. So, leave me alone or I will make sure you do.”

 

“You’ve lost this game to Sherlock,” the ‘Mycroft in the mirror’ said, “James always liked him. You can’t be serious about getting James back. You know that even if he does come back to you, it won’t be based on his free will. It will be due to compulsion, fear, blackmail perhaps. Wait a moment, you don’t plan to blackmail him into dumping Lockie, would you? Would you?”

 

“I have the right to be happy,” Mycroft beat his chest, “I have every right to look after myself. I have been looking after Sherlock for years, decades, it never ceases to be a responsibility. For decades it’s been me who has held this family together, from keeping Eurus contained in a high security facility to getting Sherlock out of trouble again and again. I have made my own money, given my parents all the help they need in their old age, I have served the country faithfully and diligently. I have given my youth and young adulthood to duties and obligations. Now when I am in my forties and my life is turning towards middle age, don’t I deserve to have that one thing I covet, the one person who makes me happy?”

 

“You’ve worked hard and looked after your siblings. However, in return you have also got much out of your work and your family. You are the chief inheritor of your father’s estate because he knows you manage money better than Sherlock. You are the only family member Eurus listens to. You have got the OBE and several other civilian honors; the Queen has been your chief sponsor in several projects and you have more power than the nation’s premier. Don’t tell me you need to act like a martyr despite being recognized repeatedly for your achievements.”

 

“I am not acting like a martyr,” Mycroft’s jaw hardened, “I am acting like a man in love.”

 

“Question yourself,” the reflection scoffed, “Do you love him or do you want to own him? The world’s most dangerous mastermind warming your bed every night and working for you every day!!! Sounds pretty good to me.”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Mycroft shouted and raised his walking stick to hit the glass surface. Suddenly the front door opened.

 

“Mr. Holmes sir.”

 

“Who is there?”

 

“This is Karen. I hope I got the right house.”

 

Karen was his trusted housekeeper for many years. “Yes this is,” Mycroft said, relieved to have ended those crazy moments of self-realization and introspection, “Please familiarize yourself with this place because we might soon shift here and you’ll be a stay at home housekeeper for me, not someone who comes in for a few hours every day.”

 

“I would love to sir,” Karen answered.

 

“Your quarters are down that hallway, last door to the right.”

 

***

 

Sherlock had never felt so lonely in his life. It had been six weeks since he had last seen Jim, six long weeks spent alone in the mini mansion at Hong Kong, with enough work on the table but little to occupy his mind despite that. Everything he did reminded him of Jim, every place he went he saw a Jim lookalike, every channel he watched somehow related to something Jim had said or done. He had once heard someone say ‘Alone does not mean lonely and lonely doesn’t mean alone’. Now he was living that theory. Technically there were others around him, all members of Jim’s web, and he had plenty to work on. Along with the Russian job, he had taken on the mantle of finishing one of the devices Jim had been building, a monitoring device that worked underwater and could potentially detect any movement two hundred to four hundred meters below sea level, even from five hundred miles away.

 

It was a challenging task and since Sherlock specialized in tracking and surveillance devices (thanks to evading Mycroft’s surveillance all his adult life), he enjoyed the work too. But somehow a part of his mind was stuck to Jim like chewing gum to a shoe.

 

The worse part was that Jim refused to talk to him, call him, text him or even send a picture. He had simply cut Sherlock out of his life like one would cut off an umbilical cord. No words, no messages, not even a word through an intermediary, Jim had thoroughly ignored him as if he didn’t even exist. Sherlock hoped Jim would call him and yell at him, such was his desperation to hear Jim’s voice at least. Being ignored hurt Sherlock more than he thought possible, being cut out of Jim’s life humiliated his existence, not being allowed to speak to Jim drove him mad. He kept trying to contact the man, despite the treatment meted out to him.

 

“Sherlock sorry,” Irene answered him, “Even I can’t do this. By now you should have known that nobody can influence Jim. Maybe only you can and even you antagonized him in some way.”

 

“I didn’t. Who said that?”

 

“Nobody did. Isn’t it apparent from the way he refuses to speak to you?”

 

“Don’t jump to conclusions. It’s not like that.”

 

“God, Sherlock I don’t want to fight with you. You called me, I didn’t call you. You asked me for a favor, not the other way around.”

 

“A favor? I just asked you to help me speak to Jim. You call that a favor? Saving someone from getting beheaded by terrorists is a favor, not this.”

 

“Sherlock, it’s easier to face an army of terrorists than to change Moriarty’s mind. He doesn’t listen to us. Yes, he might listen to Sebastian so why not talk to him? Have a word with Seb and see if he can mediate.”

 

“Seb has gone underground Irene.”

 

She sighed loudly, “Then lay low Sherlock. I am in the States, not in Kenya with Jim. Even I have no idea what he’s been up to. The mission was a success and he got all the things done per schedule and plan. From what I know and have heard, he is also orchestrating something in Africa while leading a team of spies astray by planting fake clues. He has been incredibly busy and even those who’re working with him directly on his projects have hardly had the chance to speak to him. He’s not been in a good mood and if I make the stupid mistake of trying to talk to him about you, he might just act on his favorite threat and convert that into reality.”

 

“Turn you into shoes?”

 

“Oh yeah, I forgot you were there when I had called him about the princess……”

 

“Irene, is he with someone else?”

 

“Good God Sherlock. Not again. He hates clingy parasites. It’s not cute, you know that by now.”

 

“Well, thanks for nothing.”

 

“Sherlock I…..”

 

Sherlock disconnected and tossed the phone away, falling down on the bed and closing his eyes. He turned his head and looked into the mirror, rather shocked by what he saw there. He looked tired, haggard, ill. He knew he was to be blamed for this. He had neglected all his body’s needs like a stubborn brat, choosing not to sleep enough and eat only when he was about to faint. Mostly subsisting on coffee, smokes and a bit of cocaine, he was unwashed and unshaved and had lost around five kilograms from his already slender frame.

 

Some weird part of his psychology loved this masochism. If something happened to him, Jim would blame himself. Jim would repent and regret his actions. Sherlock smiled evilly. Yeah, he would like that a lot.

 

“Mr. Holmes.”

 

“Yes Mrs. Chang?”

 

“Dinner is ready.”

 

“Leave it in the kitchen.”

 

“You’ve just had a cube of cheese today. Maybe you should eat something. I made chicken fried rice and garlic shrimps. There is also a nice dessert, dragon fruit custard with a honey glazed topping. Take a bite, you’ll like it.”

 

“Nah, not hungry right now, please leave it in the kitchen and I’ll eat when I feel like,” Sherlock replied. There were three full time helps in the house, inclusive of Mrs. Chang, but Sherlock hardly ever saw them or spoke to them. He didn’t feel like talking or eating or doing anything a man would like to do during the course of his day. All he wanted to do was work himself to exhaustion or just sit and brood, wonder where he went wrong and if things would ever become right again. He hated to see himself like this, a pessimist, a depressed and sour man, but in this situation he couldn’t help himself anymore.

 

Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.

 

“I will find the food untouched again,” Mrs. Chang grumbled, “If you don’t like my cooking tell me and I’ll have something ordered.”

 

“I said I am not hungry,” Sherlock snapped, “NOT HUNGRY. Which part didn’t you understand?”

 

“Sorry,” she sighed, “Goodnight sir.”

 

“No, I am sorry too,” Sherlock felt bad, “Didn’t mean to be rude.”

 

“It’s okay sir.”

 

As soon as she had gone, Sherlock looked up at the ceiling. He kept having a staring match with it, feeling his eyelids slowly grow heavier and heavier. Outside somewhere in the garden he heard the bodyguards talking and the sound of barking. The guard dogs, Soldier and Buster, were beginning to bark. But it was a friendly set of barks and not the usual menacing growling and yowling that strangers around this house were subjected to. Sherlock wanted to think about it but he was so tired, so drained, so sleepy……

 

Hovering between asleep and awake, he heard footsteps coming up and groaned. No, not Mrs. Chang again. He couldn’t handle a nagging elderly cook at this moment. He needed to be alone.

 

The door opened.

 

Sherlock tried to say something close to a ‘go away’ but a garbled sound came out of this throat. He rolled over and lay on his front, burying his face into a pillow. For a few seconds nothing changed, no sounds came, and Sherlock let go and allowed his eyes to close again.

 

“Sherly.”

 

“Sherlylocks?”

 

Sherlock lifted his head and snarled, “I know you aren’t here. I know you don’t even care how I feel about being abandoned. So then why, why can’t I stop dreaming about you and hearing your voice?”

 

That was when he smelled him. A whiff which he could never forget and never take too long to identify. A fine mix of fresh ripe berries and scintillating passionfruit, wild orchids and windswept firewood, a light musk with an overlying note of vanilla and a unique virile scent that belonged to the man he loved. Only one man smelled like that, a man he could sniff out amidst a crowd, a man whose scent reminded him of all the colors and beauty of nature. Jim Moriarty, his Jimmy. Jim was back. He wasn’t dreaming this. He really was back! Sherlock got up so fast he felt dizzy and nearly fell back on the bed again.

 

“Sherly,” Jim looked appalled at the sight that greeted him, “You look like a drifter.”

 

“And you look like a mad scientist,” Sherlock replied, steadying himself.

 

Indeed Jim looked like someone who had locked themselves in a lab without any nourishment for weeks, sleeping on their feet and burying their nose into their notes! The detective didn’t take long to figure out that their separation had affected Jim in similar ways it had affected him. The mastermind had lost weight quickly and looked gaunt and tired. He had dark circles under his eyes and a sickly pallor on his usually radiant skin. Sherlock quickly forgot his own condition and rushed towards Jim, elated to see Jim run towards him as well, and when they hugged they nearly knocked the breath out of each other.

 

Kissing him all over his face Sherlock asked, “You came back?”

 

“Yeah, I had to, I couldn’t hold out any longer…..”

 

Jim began to cough. He had a cold. He was shivering.

 

“You’ve not been keeping well.”

 

“Just a cold and cough, nothing to worry about. It grew worse on the flight. Hey, what’s this I smell? You used while I was away?”

 

“I am sorry. I was lonely, I was afraid, I had to. But I didn’t go all out, just some recreational sniffs, that’s all.”

 

Jim looked ready to erupt and Sherlock stepped back a bit, worried they’d reunite with a fight. But Jim’s face softened and he buried his nose in Sherlock’s collarbone, whispering ‘I guess I am to be blamed partly for that’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boys are together, at last. But Mycroft might just 'sniff' them out. It's not happy endings yet.


	33. Kinks and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheriarty have some kinky sex and bed gamed while Mycroft has a 'moment'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Watersports' in this chapter. Skip if you are squeamish about it. Or read only the second half.

“Don’t do this to me again Jim, please don’t. We can talk things out if you want, or give each other more space, but don’t just go away like this.”

 

“Don’t make me do this then. Don’t say things you’re not supposed to.”

 

Jim’s big brown eyes gazed into Sherlock’s almond shaped green ones and instantly both men knew they didn’t mean a word of what they had just said. Sherlock would never give Jim space and Jim would love to hear Sherlock’s needier side again and again. Yet the pretense went on for a few more moments till an acute need for each other made them press their lips together. In a flash they were kissing, Sherlock nearly lifting Jim off his feet and Jim hooking one of his legs around Sherlock’s hip as if he wanted to climb the man like a child would climb a tree. They kissed so hard they tasted the copper of blood from each other’s lips but even then they couldn’t have enough of each other. Unsteady yet lustful hands tore into each other’s clothes till they were both in just their lowers. Jim wore a pair of distressed jeans and Sherlock a pair of loose track pants.

 

“Sorry,” Sherlock panted, suddenly famished and sleepy, “Too tired.”

 

“Yeah,” Jim rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, “Too sleepy.”

 

“Hungry too?”

 

“I could eat.”

 

“I’ll ask Mrs. Chang to bring the food upstairs. Let’s wash up and get you some meds. Do you want some water?”

 

“Yeah,” Jim yawned and then coughed hard for a few seconds, “Looks like you’re thirsty too. Your lips are like sandpaper.”

 

They drank a liter or water each and while Jim went to take a piss Sherlock answered the knock on the bedroom door. Inexplicably, Mrs. Chang stood there holding a tray and wearing a ‘know-it-all’ grin on her face. She had brought them small portions of food and two tall glasses of chilled, sweet coconut water. “I noticed that the boss is back,” she remarked, handing him he tray, “And so must be your appetite.”

 

Blushing fiercely, Sherlock thanked her with a nod and closed the door.

 

***

 

Sherlock woke up, slightly disoriented and dazed but also feeling incredibly well rested and relaxed. He had seldom slept so well before and now he was splendidly awake and brimming with energy! However, a glance at the clock confused him completely. If he was no longer tired and his body indicated he had slept more than enough, how could be it be that only one measly hour of napping had achieved that. His exhausted body would have needed several hours of sleep to feel even an ounce of energy.

 

“Oh dearie me,” he giggled when he realized his mistake. He was looking at the clock that said it was seven o’ clock but that was seven in the morning and not seven in the evening. They had slept for thirteen hours straight.

 

Jim made a disgruntled sound and rolled over, effectively burying Sherlock under his weight. The detective smiled and kissed the dark hairs tickling his nose before a sudden twinge in his bladder made him gasp. He was so full that any moment he’d lose controls and soil the sheets they were lying on and that would be….well, embarrassing! To make matters worse, Jim’s weight on him was pressing upon the sensitive and overflowing bladder and Sherlock had to tense his legs to stop himself to letting go immediately. “Jimmy,” he said in a tone of urgency, “Need to piss. Get off of me.”

 

“Mmmnnngghhh.”

 

“What mmnnghhh? I need to piss.”

 

“Zo’wss.”

 

“What?”

 

Jim cleared his throat and half-opened his eyes, “So piss.”

 

“Here?” Sherlock squeaked, “In bed? Are you out of your mind?”

 

Jim raised his head and gave Sherlock a wild and rather evil look. “Why darling Sherlylocks? Have you not heard of something called omorashi or watersports?”

 

Sherlock growled, “I heard. Doesn’t mean I’d like to…..”

 

“And here I thought you’d do anything to keep me interested,” Jim waggled his brows, “Three months to go!”

 

“Pig,” Sherlock snarled, “You cunt.”

 

“Yeah very well, I am a cunt who loves panty wetting. In your case no panties. Now are you going to indulge me or not? See, I like experimenting, new things, being surprised, trying stuff that are a little beyond the boundaries of boring ordinary people. I always thought you were me and if I was in your place I’d jump at the opportunity to act like a submissive little thing….well, don’t pooh-pooh it till you have tried it Sherlylocks.” He paused and licked his lips, noticing how Sherlock’s eyes followed the tongue movement, “In case you are not game I can call one of my boys for this. They would love to indulge my fantasies.”

 

Sherlock snarled like a wild animal, “You will NOT ask anyone else in your bed as long as I am there to fulfil your needs. Okay, so you want me to do watersports in bed with you, may I remind you that I am not going to sleep on this bed again unless both the sheets and the mattress are changed by this evening.”

 

“Who said the mattress will need to be changed,” Jim said softly as he started to grind down on Sherlock, rubbing their cocks together, “Last evening, when you went to get us a towel for the clean-up, I took the liberty of putting a thin vinyl sheet to protect the mattress. So, only the sheets need to be changed and we have plenty of sheets for that. Even if we do this once every day we won’t run out of sheets until three months later.” He emphasized the last three words with a tug each on Sherlock’s cock and the detective began to moan with need. How quickly his body had changed signals from ‘I need to use the bathroom right away’ to ‘I need to be fucked like right now’.

 

“Hnnnnn,” Sherlock went as Jim rubbed his thumb over the slit and then let his fingers trail down to the detective’s hole.

 

“Loose from last night?” Jim asked, panting from arousal.

 

“I did you last night,” Sherlock reminded in a tight voice.

 

“Oh….then we need to prepare.”

 

“No, just use some lube on your cock and…..”

 

“Nope. Any pain or discomfort and you’ll spray it too quickly for us to have proper fun. Like a delayed orgasm, this too should happen after some time, after we have been patient.”

 

Sherlock felt apprehension but didn’t voice it. _Let go, let go and enjoy, let go and have an open mind about this…..or an open bladder, whatever, as long as it makes Jim happy._ “I can hear you thinking,” Jim sang in his usual manner as he started to finger fuck Sherlock, “If you overthink this you won’t enjoy it Sherly. Remember, an orgasm with a full bladder is an exquisite experience and not many have partners who allow them to experience it. Thank me once it’s done and over with.”

 

“Get inside already,” Sherlock panted.

 

“On all fours then,” Jim ordered.

 

Sherlock went on his hands and knees. For a few seconds nothing happened. No nudge against his opening, no fingers holding his hips, no mouth against his balls. Had Jim tricked him?

 

Suddenly a stinging slap landed on his tail bone and he yelped in surprise and sudden sting. A small stream of piss shot out of his cock and landed on the sheets below. For a second Sherlock found it gross but when he heard Jim’s satisfied groan he actually felt aroused by it. Then, without warning, Jim sank into his tight heat till his balls slapped noisily against Sherlock’s butt.

 

That thrust hit his bladder like a rocket and once again a small sprint of pee shot out of Sherlock’s cock. “Fuck I am going to…..” Sherlock tried to squeeze the base of his cock even as Jim kept pushing further and further inside, “Stop, you’re going to….”

 

“No, you won’t, you can’t pee with a hard-on,” Jim said in a tight voice, clearly trying to put some self-control into place, “Usually!” He didn’t pause to give Sherlock any time to think, instead starting to make small measured thrusts inside his lover to get him used to handling two kinds of sensations down below, extreme arousal at one end and extreme urgency on the other. As Jim’s thrusts picked up and grew faster and harder, Sherlock could feel his full bladder slosh inside him and his balls throb with the need to unload at the same time. He was afraid he’d be unable to do either and end up imploding in the messiest of manners. A choked cry escaped him.

 

“Shhhh, precious,” Jim kissed his ear, “Just enjoy the feeling.”

 

“I….I can’t….it hurts and…..fuck….”

 

“That’s what I am doing. Fuck.”

 

“Need to piss, need to cum.”

 

“Reverse the order. First you cum, then you piss.”

 

“Uhhhnnnn….oh!”

 

A hit to his prostate made him see stars and suddenly the equation changed for Sherlock. He began to feel like he was in Heaven. The sensation of being fucked while he was nursing a full bladder was far more erotic and pleasurable than Jim had mentioned and soon he was floating, enjoying every thrust, every withdrawal, every twinge in his groin and every bolt of pleasure that shot out of it.

 

He would have continued to enjoy it had it not been for Jim grabbing his cock and giving it a few more tugs and pulls.

 

“Oh,” Sherlock shuddered, eyes widening, “Fuck-fuck-fuck!”

 

Strips of pearly cum shot out of him and landed on the sheets. One even went straight to the pillow. Every part of Sherlock’s body started to spasm and he had what he had so far only heard of, a ‘braingasm’, an orgasm of the brain where his entire system seemed to have gone to reboot mode. He couldn’t hear or see anything, he was floating in midair, his only anchoring factor was Jim’s solid and assuring weight against his back and the thick cock lodged inside his still contracting arse. He flailed and almost collapsed but Jim held on to him, keeping him upright while he continued to fuck his brains out.

 

Suddenly, with a start, Sherlock felt consciousness return to him. “Ohhh,” he went, looking down at his cock which was still hard but no longer from arousal, “I am going to piss!”

 

He heard Jim’s chuckle and felt the man’s cock grow even harder inside him as he began to piss hard on the sheets. Shame and humiliation were the first things he felt and even had a tiny moment of regret about agreeing to this but the moment he felt Jim’s thrusts grow erratic and his heard his mons grow louder, all such coyness and discomfiture vanished. He only felt relief and a sense of accomplishment as he continued to let out a hot stream on the sheets, a deep and heartfelt groan of bliss leaving his chest in a slow and shuddering exhale. Jim kept fucking him, undeterred by the puddle he was making and Sherlock, unable to stop himself anymore, relaxed all his muscles and let go.

 

The sound of his urine gushing out hitting the sheets slowly faded away and all he heard was Jim’s rising grunts and moans and then the familiar throb inside his arse, followed by stinging hot semen filling it. Jim had cum so hard he was draped over Sherlock’s back, semi-conscious.

 

“Baby,” Sherlock said feebly, still pissing even though the hard stream had become a trickle, “Baby we can’t fall on this, steady now.”

 

“Mmmmm, sleep!”

 

“No way. I loved it but I won’t sleep on my own…..spunk and….whatever.”

 

“Carry me.”

 

“Carry you where?”

 

“Couch.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It’s like adopting a puppy,” he huffed but there was a mile-wide smile on his lips as he gave Jim a piggyback ride to the couch, “I forgot Mr. Lazybones, you are as clean as it gets. It’s me who needs a wash and of course the sheets need a change.”

 

Jim curled up on the couch and pulled a bathrobe over his naked body, “Pillow covers too.” He yawned and said, “Wake me in one hour and….did you call me baby?”

 

Sherlock pinched Jim’s bottom and replied, “Yes baby.”

 

***

 

Mycroft stood before the house, eyes narrowed and mouth set in determination. “James,” he whispered, “You’ll soon find out what happens to naughty boys, James.”

 

He looked around, making sure he was not spotted or followed. If Jim had a team to protect him then Mycroft too had a team to break such barriers. It had been an uphill task to get past Jim’s team of bodyguards but eventually the mission was accomplished. It had been a difficult task no doubt, but certainly not impossible.

 

As he entered the house through the backdoor, attached to a hallway that led to the kitchen, he heard humming and giggling sounds coming from the conservatory. Sunlight flooded the space which was used a herb garden on one side and a breakfast area on the other. In the middle was a beautiful fountain. Jim sure had taste and impeccable ideas when it came to home décor or fashion sense and Mycroft felt a sense of pride. He was similarly gifted and naturally that meant that he was a far more suitable partner to Jim than Sherlock could ever be. His kid brother, adorable and loved as he was, could be quite the drifter who actually liked living in squalid conditions. How would Jim even tolerate that?

 

Mycroft’s steps stopped at the sliding doors leading to the conservatory.

 

It was Jim and he was wearing only an apron.

 

Mycroft’s eyes widened and his pants tightened proportionately. Barefoot, bare limbs, tight round buttocks bobbing side by side, apron barely covering his frontal modesty, he was like a wet dream that had walked out and become the Iceman’s reality. Except that he was no longer the Iceman perhaps. This hot sight had not just thawed him but also melted him to half his size, his blood rushing south at the most alarming speed.

 

“I’ve been watching you, a lalalala long, a lalalala long li long long long……”

 

The sultry tunes of Inner Circle’s ‘Sweat’ filled the fragrant air of the conservatory and it was so appropriate for the moment that the elder Holmes couldn’t help but exclaim with approval. Instantly Jim was alert and had picked up a knife with his right hand and a boomerang with his left. Mycroft put up both hands in the air and smiled at him, his usual unreadable smile, eyes appreciatively running over the nearly naked criminal.

 

“You do know how to greet an old lover James.”

 

Jim put away both weapons. “Old lover as in someone I knew earlier or someone who is ‘ooold’ by age?”

 

“I’d call that experience.”

 

“You? Experienced? Hahaha!”

 

“There is a difference between me and Sherlock in that aspect. I indulged my body but never let it touch my heart while he never let anyone touch his body lest it touched his heart. By now you should have known James.”

 

Jim gave Mycroft a dirty smile and turned around, swaying his hips from side to side as he walked backwards and backed right up to the man in the three-piece suit. The suggestive gesture got the blood pumping in Mycroft’s veins and the elder Holmes quickly undid the string, letting the apron fall on the ground. As soon as Jim was naked, Mycroft spun him around and picked him up, taking him over to a countertop that was normally used to lay out the dishes. Jim squealed as his back hit the cold surface and then moaned as Mycroft licked at his chest before sucking on the twin erect nubs on his chest. His erection, trapped in his pants, was leaking profusely and Mycroft undid his zip and pulled out the hard rod, stroking it a few times.

 

Jim was visibly enjoying the treatment because he was in a different world, moaning and parting his legs and allowing Mycroft greater access to his private parts. When Mycroft probed at his tiny opening he cried out, when the elder Holmes bent down and kissed it, he wept with joy and pleasure. “Please please please please,” he repeated like a mantra, “I need to be with a man, a real man, please!”

 

“Never forget who the real man is,” Mycroft hissed, eyes glowing with lust, “You had a little fun in the kiddie’s playground but this is where the real adult stuff begins my lovely James.”

 

“Mikey, ohhhh.”

 

“Yes, so tight and hot and ready for me.”

 

“I want you.”

 

“My darling, you can’t want me as much as I want you. It took me years to track you down. It was a mistake to let Sherlock into your world because he left a door open for me to sneak in.”

 

“Maybe that’s what I wanted.”

 

“My sexy little James,” Mycroft coated his dick with lube which seemed to have magically appeared from his pocket, “For a week you will feel me as you walk, sit or even lie down.”

 

“Mnnnnggggnn,” Jim moaned out, raising his legs higher as Mycroft plunged into him. It was wet, hot and rough and randy and both men kept moaning and pushing each other’s limits till they exploded in a white, sticky mess of gigantic orgasms. Jim shuddered and shook like a leaf while Mycroft grunted and let out a slew of curses, something he never did in normal conversations. Once done Mycroft pulled out, kissed Jim’s forehead and whispered, “Come back to daddy James. Let me show you who your real daddy is!”


	34. On the run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two consulting geniuses run away as Mycroft closes in. But the new destination is not without its problems as Sherlock meets someone he'd rather not have around his Jim.

Mycroft woke up with a jump.

 

A sticky mess in his pajama pants told him the dream had been real, too real and too close to the future he wished to see. He took a deep breath and sat up, reaching for a glass of water he kept on the nightstand.

 

The remnants of his dream still stuck to his mind and scattered images swam around him of a naked Jim snuggling into his arms in post coital bliss, Jim in the throes of his orgasm, Jim looking at him with lustful expectations. Despite the nightfall due to the hot dream he had had, he found his manhood jerk again and start to stiffen. The MI5 and MI6 boss groaned with frustration and got out of bed, deciding to take a walk around his house and distract himself. Sleep was as close to him as Jim was and he missed both. A good night’s rest and the criminal mastermind in his arms, he needed nothing more than those two things. Okay, maybe he still wanted a knighthood as well.

 

He paced around the room for some time. In the darkness he heard his own ragged breathing sounds and stopped moving.

 

_Gosh, I sound like a man who’s just cum._

_Well, I am a man who just came._

 

Mycroft pulled at the thinning hairs around the front of his head and snorted at his reflection in the mirror. Lord of the manor growing old and worried about whether he could still be fancied and chased. _Oh well, yeah!_

 

_Must get a hair transplant done. Must lose weight. Must wear attire that makes me look younger. Must get James back._

 

His ploy had worked. He had tracked Sherlock to Hong Kong after his emotional little brother had given his location away by trying to reach John Watson. The reason for this slip – All of Sherlock’s packages to John and his parents, even a couple of them to Mrs. Hudson and Molly, had been returned with the message ‘recipient no longer resides at the given address’. It had shaken Sherlock up enough to force him into this silly mistake.

 

Now all that remained to be done was to swoop down on the two men and grab them by their throats. Of course, Sherlock would be deposited back in 221B, where he belonged, and in John Watson’s arms, which he should have never left.

 

Jim of course would be offered a ring or a handcuff, a casa or a containment facility, a husband’s status or a political prisoner’s.

 

Mycroft smiled like a reptile. He was such a kind and benevolent man, always giving people options to choose from.

 

Yet, as Mycroft walked into the bathroom to discard the soiled pajamas and put on fresh ones, he heard his younger self laughing at him and saying _‘You nitwit, you are the same man right, the one who used to say ‘caring is not an advantage’._ ’

 

***

 

Sebastian Moran had just finished a session at the taekwondo pit, having ensured all his opponents, sometimes two at a time, had fallen to his muscle power and incredibly fast moves. In his taekwondo outfit, his blond mane pulled back into a ponytail and a beard and brown contacts giving him the ‘subtle disguise’ he needed, he still looked devastatingly handsome. Hiding in South Korea had its perks. There was teppanyaki, taekwondo and several other specialties he could indulge himself in and while away the time while hiding from Mycroft Holmes’ men.

 

But as he walked towards the showers, he spotted a reflection in the shiny surface of a metal plaque on the wall, he knew he had been tracked down.

 

He had nerves of steel and didn’t react. Always prepared to be on the run, always prepared to evade his captors, always capable of outrunning his chasers, he ducked into a shower stall and calmly began to strip. Then the shower was turned on and he hummed a tune as he washed and shampooed, but with one keen eye trained on the people awaiting him outside in the locker room. His other eye was trained on the escape route he had chalked for himself. He had been captured once because someone had told him Jim had been shot. He wasn’t going to fall for anything like that again.

 

Plus he had to warn Sherlock and Jim.

 

Mycroft’s half a dozen men stood around the locker room, trying to inconspicuously blend into the crowd there, now more or less sure they were going to take the prize home. The moment colonel Moran emerged from the shower they’d capture him, in his towel or robe if needed.

 

Minutes passed but the shower remained on and so did the humming. Other men came and went, entering and leaving the adjoining shower stalls which had a flimsy curtain as means of privacy, but the colonel was nowhere to be seen.

 

A cleaner brushed past one of Mycroft’s men and mumbled sorry. Several patrons left with their kits. A couple of waiters entered with health drinks and exited with empty glasses. No Sebastian Moran.

 

“That’s it boys, we need to go in,” one of the men said.

 

They burst into the stall and found a bewildered, shivering cleaning man tied up there in his underwear and a small tape recorded kept on the soap dish, playing the humming tune. “The cleaner,” one of the men hissed, “Let’s get him now, he couldn’t have gone too far men, come on let’s go after him.”

 

“No,” their leader stopped him, wringing his hands in despair, “If that was colonel Moran then he’s already given us the slip.”

 

***

 

Jim was moaning softly, his face flushed, his lips kiss swollen and his fists bunched into the sheets he was lying on. His time in Kenya had given him a beautiful golden tan and Sherlock marveled at the contrast Jim’s skin made with the sheets as he kissed the criminal from top to toe. Jim whined and wriggled and tried to push Sherlock’s head towards his preferred destination but the detective refused to be hastened tonight. He wanted to savor Jim, taste Jim, explore Jim, own Jim. Over the past week he had found Jim giving him several liberties like cuddling him without a reason, letting him massage his feet, feeding him a rice dish while he worked and many more. If those were not indications of a growing affection between them then what else were they?

 

“Mmggg….ngggg….hnnnnn,” Sherlock went, finally attacking the spot he wanted to be in.

 

Jim was lying on his back with his legs folded up and backwards and he suddenly raised his head and yowled with pleasure. Sherlock was kissing him there, right there, something he didn’t do often. Over the months the virgin boy had proved to be a quick learner and the way he rimmed him right now made the mastermind nearly lose his senses. It felt so good, hard tongue against soft flesh, quick licks and then poking jabs, the broad and flat of the agile muscle and its eager tip wreaking havoc with Jim’s controls. He was rock hard and ready to cum, his cock drooling from the tip.

 

“Sh….Sherlock,” he hissed out, “I’ll cum like this.”

 

“Thgngumm,” Sherlock said while he continued to work his wicked tongue on the furled little opening.

 

Jim shivered and tried to jerk off but Sherlock blindly reached for his cock, batted his hand away and started to stroke him like a master. “Ohhhh,” Jim looked down at the hand on his cock, those long fingers wrapped around his meat, the headful of dark curls nestled between his open legs, and he was reminded of those days when they were adversaries and nemesis. Even then Jim had felt the connect. But it was Sherlock who had risked it all to complete the connection.

 

A sudden realization hit Jim like a thunderbolt and doubled his arousal. He tried to thrust up into the solid fist and push down on the invading tongue at the same time, gasping like a goldfish out of water. Sherlock chuckled with his mouth still on Jim’s crack, realizing completely what was going on and pushing Jim closer and closer to the edge. For a moment he wished in a strange way that he had an ant-eater’s tongue, so he could reach Jim’s prostate that way.

 

Eventually he didn’t really need a prostate nudge.

 

Jim came in such a spectacular manner that Sherlock forgot all else and found his own body reacting to that wild orgasm he seemed to have given his lover. Limbs thrashing, curses and litanies pouring out of his mouth, eyes wide and mouth open in a perfect ‘O’, Jim was truly a sight for sore eyes as he came and came and came. Sherlock stopped rimming him midway through his orgasm and opened his mouth wide, positioning himself in the pathway of his lover’s flying semen. Some of it landed on his lips and cheek, completing the ‘facial’ and made him look very sexy indeed.

 

“Fuck,” Jim gasped, still breathless, “C’mere.”

 

Sherlock lay down beside him and suddenly screamed with ecstasy as a sneaky Jim pinched one of his nipples and rubbed his knee against Sherlock’s hard cock at the same time. The twin sensations took the sleuth flying over the edge and his entire body jerked hard as he came. In the throes of ecstasy he grabbed Jim and practically pulled him on top and Jim allowed him the liberty, burying his face in Sherlock’s chest disarmingly.

 

Somehow this felt more intimate, more satisfying than anything else, including sex or a crime committed together. Unnerved by the way it evoked tender feelings in him, Sherlock ended up murmuring the three words he knew he shouldn’t have.

 

“I love you.”

 

Jim tensed.

 

“Hey forget it,” Sherlock quickly added, “Just the result of awesome sex.”

 

“You take me for a fool? Or naïve? Or an idiot?”

 

“No Jimmy I…..”

 

“Sebby was in love with me. Look where he is now. You don’t realize Sherlock, I am not meant to be loved. Whoever loves me suffers or changes or ends up hurting me. And I don’t want to give anyone that chance of hurting me and enjoy watching me suffer. Not even you.”

 

“Jim I can’t help it.”

 

“You want me to go away again?”

 

“No,” Sherlock grabbed his arm, “No Jimmy, please no, don’t go. I take back my words, I really do baby.”

 

“There are words you can’t take back,” Jim hissed, sitting up in bed just as his and Sherlock’s phones chimed together, “There are facts, which, when you know you cannot un-know.”

 

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but ended up shutting it again. Seeing that Jim had just picked up his phone, Sherlock also picked up his. If Jim could just toss him aside and look at work then Sherlock could at least pretend to look at work as well. But the moment his eyes fell on the strange symbols on the screen and a few cogs turned in his brain, he automatically got out of bed and grabbed Jim by the shoulder. “Message from Sebastian,” he said breathlessly, “Mycroft is on his way here. Sebby somehow made it out of Seoul and has gone to India, a country he knows.”

 

“A country where one can hide.”

 

“Or China….”

 

“Yeah China. We can’t afford to be near Tiger. I don’t want him to get into any further trouble because of me. He has faced enough, just enough.”

 

“Should we start then?”

 

Jim looked at him as if he had sprouted two heads, “Do you need the president’s invitation? Of course, we will go there and hide. Now pack a bag as quickly as you can and let’s get the fuck out of here. I got the same message from Tiger but he also gave me the coordinates. Mycroft and his men would be here in precisely,” he paused and looked at the clock, “Five hours and thirty-two minutes.”

 

In less than an hour Jim and Sherlock were at the docks, about to board a ship. Soon they would reach another island from where they’d climb aboard a chopper. Then straight into China, Guangzhou to be precise, where we have someone waiting for us. I bet she can help us.”

 

“Irene?”

 

“You miss her?”

 

Sherlock was forced to smile. Did Jim just sound a wee bit jealous?

 

“No, why should I? I just feel hopeful if she is involved in the operations, that’s all. Even a demanding and hard to please boss like you knows she can be trusted with complex and dangerous projects. There was a reason you sent her to me, didn’t you?”

 

Jim grinned, “You will be pleased to see our contact there.”

 

***

 

Guangzhou was an archetypal blend of the traditional and the modern. From avant-garde architecture to the orthodox churches and serene pagodas, serpentine flyovers to quaint streets with multicolored houses, concrete jungle to parks and azure blue sea, it had nearly everything civilization and nature could offer as a combined product. Sherlock had read up about the place on the single day and night they had spent on the ship and excitedly pointed out various aspects about the city.

 

Jim watched him with affectionate enthusiasm, asking a few questions just so the detective could talk nonstop and enthrall him with that deep baritone.

 

At one point Jim disarmingly laid his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and threaded their fingers together. Sherlock also rested his cheek on the soft hairs on the crown of his lover’s head, humming a tune he had heard on the chopper. It was a Chinese country song and he understood not a single word of it, yet the tune was stuck to his head and he couldn’t stop humming it. “I am doing this because I am tired,” Jim said in a cut and dry tone, “Don’t think for even a moment that we are finished with our discussion. I told you not to and yet you chose to, and you dare repeat it too.”

 

“You told me not to and I chose to….oh that.”

 

“Yeah, that.”

 

“I never said I expect you to love me back Jimmy. I am not expecting a ring to pop our or a dream villa on the beach. I am not even dreaming of skiing holidays on icy slopes and lazy Sundays on the couch, watching sport or some action thrillers. I expect nothing, if you ask me truthfully. I am aware of where I stand and will serve my post.”

 

Jim huffed, “You don’t understand.”

 

“Then help me to.”

 

“No, drop the topic.”

 

“Oh okay, if you insist then we will.”

 

Their cab came to a stop in front of a building that was at least fifty plus years old and pygmy’ed by the tall and equally old Landmark Canton hotel building. Seven floors in height and pretty wide in length, the ‘Chinese Empress’ building boasted of offices in the lower floors, shops in the basement and residential suites and apartments on the top of three floors. They were service apartments fully supported by the commercial establishments in the basement, including food and water and electronic equipment.

 

“You own a property here?” Sherlock asked, staring at the building which didn’t look residential from any angle. What a brilliant man Jim was!

 

“Yeah, three bedroom with three baths and balconies,” Jim said, tipping the cabbie and saying ‘thank you’ in Mandarin, “three thousand square feet apartment on the top floor up there. Bought it ten years ago and visited it only three times. This is the third time, I mean to say.”

 

Sherlock was pretty charmed and impressed by the way Jim had planned their escape from Hong Kong and chosen their hideout for the next few days. Take a smallish, commercial vessel, go the other way towards Malaysia, then make a turn and stop at an island and take a chopper. Choose a city in mainland which is a big port so further escape can be easy. Choose a city big enough to hide in but small enough to not get lost in. One could always dig deeper into Chinese terrain or take the sea and escape towards the north, perhaps Vladivostok, a place Jim often spoke of and expressed a desire to visit. After hearing that city’s name repeatedly from his mate, Sherlock wanted to see it as well.

 

The elevator was old fashioned with double sliding doors. As they exited on the top floor, Jim led Sherlock with a hand on the small of his back and brought them in front of an open door. Two Chinese lanterns hung from either side of the entrance and some feng shui item hung on the wooden panel of the door. As they stepped inside, Sherlock nodded in approval at the minimalistic yet traditional décor. Low height sofas and tables, lots of bamboo items and jade, Chinese paintings in silk and a huge oil painting of the Great Wall on one of the walls.

 

Modern items like a fifty-inch television, four feet Bose speakers and a fully Americanized wet bar added to the eclectic charm. Sherlock whispered ‘nice’ to which Jim responded by pointing, “That bedroom.”

 

“Is ours right?” Sherlock asked enthusiastically, “I think it overlooks the sea.”

 

Jim didn’t reply. He simply shut the main door and observed Sherlock as the sleuth dragged his trolley bag, violin case and duffel and proceeded towards the appointed room. He wanted to watch and read his reactions.

 

“Jim,” Sherlock paused at the doorway, “This is not the master bedroom. That bedroom across the hallway is bigger. And there is a woman in this room. Do you have a caretaker here?”

 

“I do,” Jim said, “That’s Brett Hong, a man.”

 

“Then this woman….what?”

 

Sherlock stepped back and stared in astonishment as Eurus Holmes emerged from the bedroom, dressed in ethnic and colorful Chinese clothes and her hairs braided with wisps hanging out, typically in the fashion of traditional Chinese maidens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is Eurus doing here? Well, Jim needs her genius contributions for a self-defense project but even he underestimates her power of destabilizing people.


	35. Simmering Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eurus' presence unsettles Sherlock who finds himself caught between a brother hunting down his mate and a sister trying to steal his mate

“Well hello little brother,” Eurus said with a sharp look at Sherlock, slowly advancing on him like a predator sizing up its prey before the big attack, “It seems even you couldn’t resist the charms of a James Isaac Moriarty. But come on, if you wanted to meet Isaac Murtagh, all you had to do was ask me and I would have told you where he is. Years ago I helped Myc, I could help you too. After all you have been my favorite sibling all along, I swear.”

 

Sherlock looked so astonished that Jim began to laugh. Eurus looked at him fondly and said, “He has a real cute laughter, does he not?”

 

“Ohhhhh,” Jim clutched at his stomach as he looked at Sherlock again, “Oh my God, look at his face!!!” He continued to laugh, sometimes high-pitched, sometimes taking deep shuddering breaths and sometimes nearly doubling over from the whole process. As the initial shock wore off, Sherlock felt anger rise in his system. While he was happy to see Eurus normal and talking, he was appalled at the way Jim knew about her true condition while he, Eurus’ brother, had no clue that she was out of her catatonic, speechless, almost insular state. Against better judgement he sprang towards Eurus and grabbed her arm roughly.

 

“Ohhh,” Eurus’s eyes went wide, “What are you doing?”

 

“Something I should have done as a brother, long time ago, maybe before you killed my friend,” Sherlock snapped.

 

“Sherlock,” Jim called out. He had abruptly stopped laughing.

 

“I did what was right,” Eurus’ eyes glowed with the madness within, “You ignored me, your sister, therefore I didn’t treat you like a brother. I didn’t think about my brother’s friend. I just saw him as someone who kept my brother away from me.”

 

“Then why are you on his side?” Sherlock pointed at Jim, “Is he your brother too?”

 

“Sherlock stop,” Jim said again, this time in a tone of warning.

 

“You don’t fuck brothers do you,” she giggled, as if she had just heard the most amusing thing in the world, “I hope not, because I do want to fuck him. He is so very ‘fuckable’, isn’t he?”

 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP,” Sherlock yelled.

 

“Won’t, sue me.”

 

“Eurus I am warning you…..”

 

“You can do precious little to me. Admit it, you like him too. In that case we can share.”

 

“Baby girl, stop,” Jim said in a loud voice this time. To Sherlock’s surprise, Eurus instantly shut her mouth and took a step back.

 

Sherlock tried to snap at Eurus again but Jim addressed him sternly, “That goes for you too. Just stop. Shut up.”

 

“Now, listen to me both of you,” Jim said in a voice that left no room for negotiation, “While you might be brother and sister, I can easily claim that I know you far better and for far longer than you know each other. She was sent away as a kid therefore you can’t say you are used to her Sherlock. As for you Eurus, you have no idea what Sherlock has become since you haven’t met him in over a year. The only reason I let you two meet here, in China, is because I need your expertise, not so you can fight and crib and remind me of a nursery. I need both of you to work with me on something. The question is, can you do that?”

 

“Can we do what?” Eurus asked.

 

“Stop fighting and start working for the project you should be collaborating on?”

 

“What project?”

 

“I will tell you as soon as you have stopped acting like two-year-olds.”

 

“You have my commitment.”

 

With that, Eurus advanced on Jim like a predator and grabbed his face, leaning in for a kiss. Seeing that Sherlock lost it. In a flash he was next to them and pulling Jim away from his sister, a murderous expression in his eyes. Before Jim could react, Eurus threw Sherlock a scornful glance and said, “I said we can share, or we can take turns, whichever way you like. But you can’t keep him away from me.”

 

“No,” Sherlock yelled at her. Then he turned towards Jim with a pleading glance in his eyes, “No, please, no.”

 

Jim looked puzzled for a moment. Then he quickly put a hand on the small of Eurus’ back and took her deeper inside the bedroom while he gestured at Sherlock to leave them alone. A stunned, miffed and scorned Sherlock stomped out of the room and went straight to the master bedroom. _Take that sis, he will sleep in the same room and on the same bed with me._ _If this does not show which side he bats for, then nothing else would._

 

He waited and waited. Five, ten and finally thirty minutes passed and there were no signs of Jim or Eurus anywhere. Fearing the worst, that they might’ve jumped into bed together, Sherlock tiptoed out of the room and peered into the guest bedroom allotted to his sister.

 

“Sherly? What are you doing?”

 

Sherlock spun around and blushed. Jim was standing behind him and giving him an amused look. “Um….I was….just checking that…..I was…..” He stammered and mumbled, unsure of how to lie about this.

 

“Come inside the bedroom, we will talk about this,” Jim explained and Sherlock hotfooted into the master bedroom, eager to know it all from the horse’s mouth. He hated being kept in the dark and while it was easier to make deductions about everything earlier, with Jim or Eurus he lacked that power. Those two were unpredictable, followed no patterns and their behavior could be totally masked and concealed. Once inside, he even closed the door and bolted it. No way was he going to trust Eurus with this, this woman didn’t believe in protocol or privacy. She would come and go as she pleased and Sherlock was not going to have any of that.

 

“Sherlock relax, don’t get yourself tied into knots,” Jim said calmly, a bit too calmly, as he sat on the bed, “Come and sit here next to me. You look red as a tomato and I am sure it’s from both anger and embarrassment.”

 

Which Sherlock did.

 

“I helped Eurus recover in that Sherrinford facility,” Jim began, rubbing Sherlock’s arm in a gesture of soothing and comforting him, “I did it because she was too sharp and good a mind to be destroyed forever. Of course I also did it because I needed her help in creating a satellite tracking system and a code that’s so powerful it can override all codes that are used by different countries to keep their tracking systems breach-proof. To launch this system and to test the code we need at least three people and I couldn’t think of anyone better than us, the three of us, to do this.”

 

Sherlock was astounded, “What? You brought me here for this? I though we were…..”

 

“Escaping from Mycroft?” Jim asked, “Yes, that too. When I knew we were coming here and might have to stay hidden for some time, I saw a golden opportunity to complete this work. I had Eurus flown over. A lookalike of hers, who had her face changed through cosmetic surgery, has taken her place at the facility. Mycroft won’t be any wiser for a few days at least. In any case his focus right now is on his youngest sibling, you!”

 

“You should have asked me,” Sherlock said.

 

“I wasn’t aware I was supposed to,” Jim looked genuinely surprised.

 

“Oh, of course, I have to spell out everything.”

 

“Don’t give me that disappointed tone. I am not saying I won’t tell you things in advance. You just need to tell me that’s what you prefer.”

 

“That’s what I prefer.”

 

“Sherly…..you have something else to say too. Say it.”

 

Sherlock cracked his knuckles and stretched his long legs. For a few moments he veered between keeping his thoughts to himself and letting out some steam and finally, after some deliberation, chose a middle path. “Look Jim, it might not mean anything to you but being in love with you means a lot to me,” he began, watching Jim’s smile turn into a scowl, “I know you haven’t sworn monogamy yet and we have willingly let Sebastian into the mix but I can at least expect not to be forced to watch you with someone else, least of all my sister. She has feelings for you Jim, she can be dangerous, she could kill one or both of us. What if I am not comfortable working or living with her?”

 

Jim shook his head, “As long as I am around she won’t hurt you or do anything that annoys or bothers me.”

 

“How are you so confident of that?”

 

“Because I relate to her to some extent. Because I know how to control her. Because I am aware that at the end of the day she can’t kill six people. Me, you, Mycroft, your mum and your dad. The sixth person is Sebastian and that’s only because she likes him too.”

 

“So I have to grin and bear this.”

 

“Am I not grinning and bearing things too? Like you repeatedly telling me you love me. I never wanted to hear that.”

 

Sherlock withdrew his hands from Jim’s grasp as if he had been scalded. He got up and was about to walk away when Jim’s strong hands grabbed and pulled him down, then made him sit on the edge of the bed again. In a flash Jim’s mouth was on him and Sherlock forgot all and sundry and kissed him back. Their tongues gently rubbed together and Sherlock found Jim straddling his thighs and pressing their chests together, closing every inch of gap between their bodies.

 

Suddenly someone called out, “The bolt is easy to handle.”

 

Sherlock was so shocked he almost tossed Jim off his lap while Jim, calm and collected, simply regained his balance and stood up.

 

“Get out of here,” Sherlock shouted.

 

“No,” Eurus returned coolly, “You get out.”

 

“Honey,” Jim said in a placating tone, “You can do this to anyone you want but not to me. This is my bedroom and you can’t walk in here unless you’ve been allowed to or asked to.”

 

“If this is your bedroom and no one can walk in here without an invitation,” Eurus looked at Jim’s face as if she was memorizing every aspect of it, “Then why did you invite Sherlock? Why were you on his lap?”

 

Sherlock was about to react but Jim pressed down hard on his shoulder and reined him in. “Tiffany Eurus Matilda Holmes,” he began in a voice which dripped authority and took even a seasoned man like Sherlock by surprise, “Let’s face one fact here. Your brother is very dear to me and I treat him like a partner, both in business as well as out of it, so you will find him with me most of the time. That includes this bedroom, this bed, or any other place you can think of. Now you have two choices, you either go back where we picked you out from. Or you can stay and comply, not intrude and not try to do anything that compromises Sherlock or the work we are doing. As I said, your choice.”

 

Eurus looked at Jim blankly, seemingly stunned into speechlessness. In fact she stared like that, empty gaze and mouth slack, for so long that Sherlock thought she had lapsed into her earlier catatonic state. But Jim gazed back at her levelly, showing no reaction at all. He simply observed her like one observes a lab rat, curious, unblinking and diligent but no emotions attached to it.

 

Suddenly a hint of a smile appeared at the corner of Eurus’ lips. “You love him.”

 

It was clearly a statement and not a question. Sherlock gasped audibly. Jim pinched the bridge of his nose, “I didn’t bring you here for psychoanalysis. Remember how I sneaked into Sherrinford to meet you? How happy you were to see me? How you snapped out of that mile-long vacant-stare mode of yours? We made a deal that day, we decided that if you ever need to help me then you would. So, you are here to help me baby girl, not to put a big rock in my way.”

 

“I thought you were brave,” Eurus said.

 

Jim frowned, “What kind of a question is that?”

 

“Again, not a question but a statement. Like my earlier one.”

 

“What rubbish!”

 

“If you were brave you’d say ‘If you dare touch Sherlock I will kill you’. Then I’d ask ‘why’. And you’d answer ‘Because I love him, that’s why’.”

 

“Leave this room brilliant girl or I’ll make you,” Jim said curtly, “Sherlock, you leave too. I need some time alone.”

 

***

 

“No clues, no hints, no trails, no footprints,” Mycroft said mechanically as he sat on a chair and observed his team. They stood in a semi-circle around him, all of them tense and afraid. Mycroft Holmes never lost his cool but when he did, things were never the same. Things got ugly and scary and extremely dangerous.

 

“I thought I had the most brilliant team in the world,” the MI6 boss continued, “Now I might have changed my opinion a little. I think it’s time I brought in fresh blood.”

 

All the men gasped and looked at each other, clearly taken aback and wary of that subtle threat from their leader. One of the men, Joseph Levin, who was the senior most in rank amongst them (barring Mycroft) and had over two decades of experience in this line of work, decided to do damage control on behalf of the whole group. “Mr. Holmes, we are dealing with a very canny criminal and your brother is also a very brilliant man. They have covered their tracks very well. But I am sure we will track them down soon. We will have every exit point checked and every possible hideout searched. Give us two more days please.”

 

“I will give you time but please, at least this time do things the right way Jo. No need to search Hong Kong because none of them would hide here. I know James. He would prefer to work even while he’s hiding or on the run. He is a workaholic. For that he has to be away from this place because Hong Kong is teeming with my men and my contacts. Look for vehicles they might have used to exit. Private flights, commercial flights, ships, boats, even fishing trawlers.”

 

“Yes sir,” the men said together.

 

“Look for places from where they could have taken a private jet or a chopper. They might have tried to derail us by changing transport. Look for the nearest big cities, especially in China. Cities that are easily accessible from Hong Kong.”

 

“We will look in China, India, Singapore, Malaysia…..”

 

“No, look in China. Singapore and Malaysia are too small. India is too far to be reached in a flash. China is not just conveniently nearby but, thanks to its government, a mysterious and insular place to the rest of the world. It’s easier to hide there.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Have you understood clearly.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“I need this information in two days and after that we’ll decide how long you have to track them down. This time, the information will be shared only with me and within two hours we will be at the place. No time lag or else we’ll be welcomed by empty rooms and silent houses.”

 

“Yes sir,” the men said in unison, “Understood sir.”

 

***

 

Two days and nights had passed since they had arrived at Guangzhou and Sherlock had felt an uneasy truce hang in the air. While Eurus seemed to ignore him completely, she remained normal and pleasant with Jim. She had also kept her end of the deal and not attacked Sherlock or intruded into a space he shared with Jim. Workwise they were in pretty good shape already. Jim had explained the work they were supposed to do and, brilliant as the plan was, Sherlock had pointed out a few flaws in it. Eurus had worked to fix them and Jim seemed pretty pleased with the efforts of the ‘Twin-Genius-Holmes’, as he liked to call them teasingly.

 

They made considerable progress on the work front on the third day and by evening all of them were exhausted from their nonstop efforts. Naturally the decision was to retire early to bed.

 

Sherlock made love to Jim, slow and romantic, and was pleased to note that Jim responded to it with the same kind of sweet, needy intimacy. Although the detective was worried that they might be watched from some random hole in the wall, he didn’t let it stop him or slow him down. Later, as they lay coiled up with Jim’s head on Sherlock’s chest, the Irishman explained to him why they were doing this project. “For the first time I have no client,” he stated, “This is what we call a defense shield. Like a bullet-proof jacket which one wears should they have to take a bullet at some point.”

 

“Why not avoid the bullet then?” Sherlock asked.

 

“You’re asking me to go legit?”

 

“Maybe. Do you really need to run all your life?”

 

“I don’t have a problem with that.”

 

“Not today perhaps. But at some point you will.”

 

“We will cross the bridge when we come to that.”

 

Sherlock tightened his hold over Jim, “We? You mean we will be together longer than just a year? We will continue to be like this….I mean we will work and live together?”

 

Jim sighed, “Why do you put words in my mouth?” He failed at keeping up a façade and confessed the next moment, “If I say yes we can be together longer, what will your answer be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my universe Sherlock is the baby brother, a year younger than Eurus and not a year older. Damn it, Sian Brooke never looked younger than Benedict Cumberbatch in any universe phuah!


	36. Let them be happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets the shock of his life

“YES!!!”

 

Jim looked at Sherlock, hint of a smile on the corner of his lips. “Yes, yes, yes, my answer is yes,” Sherlock said with the enthusiasm of a child that had just been promised his first trip to Disneyland, “Yes, I will be with you, yes!”

 

Jim grabbed Sherlock with both arms and said, “Even if that means putting up with my nonsense? And I am aware I have many. I sleep when I am sleepy and not because it’s bedtime. I demand attention like a baby at times and at other times I am aloof and acerbic. Yet I expect people around me to understand and be consistent in their behavior at all times. I take risks because I am bored, I cut people just so I can laugh when they bleed, I can come up with silly excuses to blow things up and sometimes I……” he paused, his mood suddenly somber, “Sometimes I am just blank, when I don’t have the energy even to talk or leave the bed.”

 

“I know all of that,” Sherlock kissed his cheek, “I am fine with all of that.”

 

“For the rest of your life?”

 

“Forever and ever.”

 

“You silly, romantic, emotional fool!”

 

“You said you’d burn the heart out of me.”

 

“I did, and I have.”

 

“How?”

 

“Haven’t you figured it out yet? I made you acknowledge you have a heart, then I let jealousy creep in, I burned it with my unpredictable ways and now it’s our of your chest and in my claws. I kept my word.”

 

“Not entirely,” Sherlock wrapped his arms and legs around the smaller man so the Irishman practically disappeared in his arms, “You told me you owe me. I remember that apple. Instead of eating it you carved letters on it. By the way, I have something for you. It’s a small gift, meant to remind us of our ‘earlier’ days. Hang on a second, it must be here somewhere, now where might it be….yep, here it is!!!”

 

He pulled out a thin platinum chain from which was suspended a platinum pendant in the shape of an apple. It had an enamel coating on it to give it the reddish appearance of the forbidden fruit and on the body of the ‘apple’ were the letters ‘I O U’ carved. It was just like the apple Jim had once left behind at 221B. In another life it had been a threat. In their changed world it was a promise, a gentle and sweet promise.

 

Jim extended his neck in a silent assent to let Sherlock slip it on. Sherlock did that and whispered, “I owed you a fall too. Admit it, you have fallen in love.”

 

A slow, soft, lingering kiss took place between them and Jim snuggled deeper into the detective’s embrace, head pillowing down on the Englishman’s chest. He was silent for a long moment but clearly not asleep because his breathing was neither slow nor shallow, he was still and silent but deep in thought. His mind was running a mile a minute while the rest of his body refused to keep up. “Go to sleep Jimmy,” Sherlock insisted, stroking his hairs, “You can think through this tomorrow morning. Even if that means you have changed your mind, I am okay with it. Sooner or later we will be on the same page.”

 

“You are really confident about this, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes. I have never been so confident in my entire life.”

 

“Hmmm, Sherlyyyy!”

 

“Jimmyyyy!”

 

A few minutes passed and Jim started to go slack in his lover’s arms. Sherlock lay still, too excited to sleep and too clingy to let go of Jim and get out of bed. “We must tell Sebastian,” he murmured against Jim’s hairs.

 

A soft sleepy chuckle and Jim replied, “You really like him, don’t you? Okay we will. Let’s finish our work here and find a way to meet him somewhere. Believe me, he will be very happy to know someone is there with me while he’s away.”

 

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

 

At some point Jim fell asleep and his breathing changed to a slow, sleepy cadence. Sherlock started to count sheep and seriously consider getting out of bed and starting some experiment. No point lying there with so much pent up happiness and excitement coursing through his veins. For the first time in his life he was eager to share some news with his parents, with John, with Mrs. Hudson. Even Mycroft needed to know.

 

At some point Jim would go legit. They could be a normal happy family. Normal no longer seemed boring and repulsive.

 

He heard a clock’s gong in the distance, announcing that it was one in the morning. Sherlock could finally feel sleep pulling at him. His eyelids had begun to droop and his limbs were beginning to feel heavy and slack. Jim’s warm weight in his arms felt reassuring and nice! He looked forward to falling asleep like this every night, or whenever Jim decided to come to bed. So this was love, this was what it felt like when one longed to be with somebody with so much intensity that nothing else mattered in life. If he had Jim he had everything he needed to be happy. More than sex, it was the privilege of falling asleep and waking up with Jim every night and morning which appealed to Sherlock.

 

_You are deep in here, no chances of getting out Sherlock._

 

He didn’t even hear the sounds at first but when the shadow fell on the wall opposite to the bed, Sherlock was alerted to the presence of a third person in the bedroom. Even as his right hand reached for the gun he kept under the pillow, he kept a hawk eye and an iron-hold on Jim. Whoever it was, they were not going to harm one hair on Jim’s head. But the intruder didn’t do anything at all, no sudden moves or menacing gestures, no shiny knife-blade flashing in the darkness or the catch of a revolver being pulled back. For long minutes the intruder just lingered around the room and finally sat down at the foot of the bed.

 

That was when Sherlock realized who it was. A groan almost left him before he reined the sound in.

_Eurus had clearly decided to disobey Jim._

 

“Pssst, what are you doing here?” He hissed through his teeth.

 

Eurus didn’t answer.

 

“It’s past one in the morning. Go to your room and sleep. Jim will be very upset if…..”

 

“I didn’t come here for Jim,” Eurus said in a voice that reminded Sherlock of a little girl’s, soft and smooth and vulnerable, “I want to talk to you.”

 

“Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”

 

“No, it can’t. Let’s wake Jim up and ask if he’s okay to let you…..”

 

She had extended her arm to grab Jim’s leg but Sherlock batted it away. “No,” he kept his voice low, “Don’t disturb him. As it is he compromises on sleep to walk longer hours. Go outside and I’ll join you in a few minutes.” His jaw hardened and he added curtly, “Do as I’m telling you to.”

 

She quietly left. In her white pajamas, long dark locks falling loosely over her face and shoulders, she once again looked like the Eurus who had nearly killed John by drowning him in the same well where ‘Redbeard’ had met his end. For a moment Sherlock felt fear creep in.

 

_No, she is my sister, she won’t hurt me, she also knows Jim would be very upset if she tried to do something to me, he warned her._

 

Sherlock gently untangled himself from Jim’s embrace, got into some clothes and tiptoed out of the bedroom.

 

***

 

She sat on the steps leading to the water tank atop the terrace, her tresses flying wild in the strong sea breeze. The moon shone bright and high in the skies but dark clouds, pregnant with monsoon droplets, floated around the silvery disc like a thousand suitors trying to woo a maiden at a ball. In the distance the sea roared like an orchestra playing some dark theme, foreboding, growly and dreary. The beautiful, calm, serene weather from the daytime had changed during the evening and Sherlock could tell that the next day was going to be a wet, windy one.

 

“Why did you call me here?” He asked plainly.

 

“To save you dear brother,” she replied, speaking in such a low monotonous murmur that her sibling had to walk closer to catch every word that was uttered, “I might have had my misgivings about you earlier but after that hug, things just changed right? I don’t want you to live in the dark Sherlock, I don’t want you to be lied to. I know the pains of being excluded, of being forgotten, of being abandoned. You don’t deserve any of that, certainly not from Jim or from Mycroft.”

 

Sherlock made a face, “Seriously? You are being ridiculous now. Let’s go inside.”

 

“He must have proposed to you.”

 

“No, yes, I mean….how did you know? Have you been listening in, despite being told not to?”

 

“I don’t need to listen in. That’s for people who want to find out something they don’t know. I am someone who knows, I have always been an insider on Jim’s plans. Don’t be stupid Sherlock, don’t give me that blank stare, you know very well we clicked in the very beginning. He was my Christmas pressie, I was his muse, we created a world of illusions together. That bond hasn’t gone, it has deepened further.”

 

“Stop,” Sherlock said dismissively, “He loves me and everything that’s happened in the past just remains in the past.”

 

“We are products of our past dear brother. Our past defines our present and our reaction to our present eventually defines our future. Correct or not?”

 

“What are you trying to say?”

 

She glowered at him, her eyes shining like two chunks of burning coal against the backdrop of the shadowy night. The moon had been seduced by a large cloud that almost completely overshadowed it, letting the blanket of darkness descend on the earth. The wind had picked up, the sea was growling like an animal now. Something bad was going to happen, Sherlock was pretty sure of it. He instinctively stepped back from his sister.

 

“Look at you,” she scoffed mildly, “Scared of the wrong people.”

 

Sherlock startled. She immediately leveraged that moment and caught his hand, pulling him closer. “Listen to me Sherlock,” she said insistently, “I am crazy, I know that. But I am not stupid. NOT stupid. We have all been fooled by Jim, or at least you and I have been fooled. I only just realized it and before things get worse for you I wanted to warn you. Yes, I did overhear him making commitments to you but what kind of commitments were they? Did he say he will give you a ring? A last name? A home? Kids? A legitimate life where you don’t need to be on the run for half the time? Nope, all he agreed to do was to keep you around like one keeps a pet.”

 

“Don’t,” Sherlock pulled his arm back, “Don’t try this. Your mind-control tricks won’t work with me. Not this time.”

 

“You see a trick,” she sighed, “I see a disaster.”

 

“This conversation is over.”

 

“No, it is bloody well not.”

 

“I am leaving.”

 

Sherlock turned on his heel and started to walk away. He had scarcely gone a few steps when Eurus said the most chilling words. “You aren’t his real target and neither am I. We are just puppets on a string, whom he can pull and twist and manipulate us to dance to his tunes. There is a far bigger game going on in the background, one you missed completely and even I missed for the most part. But I am aware now and I would be damned if I didn’t tell you what you’ve been overlooking so far.”

 

“What do you mean?” Sherlock made his tone impatient so his curiosity didn’t seep through but he had by then given Eurus the attention she was asking for. A nervous ball worked at the pit of his stomach and he unknowingly took a few deep breaths as he waited for her answer.

 

“People kill two birds with a stone. Mr. Moriarty plans to kill three. Or should I say kill two and marry one.”

 

“Quit the riddles….ohhh…..you mean to say…..you had helped Mycroft seek him out, after he had faked his death. Does that mean…..”

 

“Yeah,” she didn’t try to hide the resentment in her voice from showing, “You are really slow. Finally you got it.”

 

Sherlock gasped, “He betrayed us for Mycroft.”

 

“Oh my poor little dull brother,” Eurus let out one of her most irritating condescending chuckles, “It was always Mycroft, it was always about Mycroft, that is the man Jim always loved, coveted and submitted to. That arrest, why do you think Jim allowed it to happen and is there any real proof he was tortured. There was some ‘show’ made of torture but in reality it was a love nest in there. Myc helped him fake his death, he had a roaring affair with Jim which nobody got to know, not even us, and then he set Jim free with all his crimes pardoned and a new identity. Who does something like that for a criminal mastermind unless there are feelings involved somewhere?”

 

“But….But…..”

 

“Don’t be in denial.”

 

“My….Myc is not capable of…..loving anyone.”

 

“He isn’t in love with ‘anyone’. Jim is not anyone.”

 

“I don’t believe you. I will go and ask Jim right away.”

 

“Don’t believe me,” she said nonchalantly, “Believe these, perhaps!”

 

Sherlock had the steadiest nerves in the business but anything related to Mycroft or Moriarty had always given him jitters, even if they lasted briefly. Those two men had minds that rivalled his own brilliance and he was also aware that they had the power to capitalize on their genius. As he took the photographs and other artifacts from his sister, Sherlock felt icicles form on his spine. There were pictures of Mycroft and Jim, gifts exchanged between them, an official pardon from the Queen, artifacts which supported a new identity creation for Jim, even an unmarked grave that Mycroft had assigned to make it look like Jim was no more.

 

Then there were emails and letters exchanged between Mycroft and Jim’s lieutenants and testimonies of a few close aides of the MI6 boss which screamed loud and clear about ‘an exchange program’ where Mycroft had helped some of Jim’s men, including Sebastian, escape England and roam scot free in this world. From Jim’s side there were no commitments made, just a few short and sweet thank you notes. All of them were signed as ‘Baby’.

 

Sherlock had seldom cried in his adult life but right now he felt like crying out of self-pity. How did he get so easily fooled? He used to call Jim ‘baby’ but Jim had hardly ever returned the favor. And why would he? He was someone else’s baby, not Sherlock’s.

 

The last nail on the coffin was a letter from Mycroft proudly describing the tattoo Jim wore on his butt. ‘The tattoo artist did a great job, he converted my charcoal drawing into a stunning likeness inked on your butt. That is my stamp of ownership on you. Whoever tries to see you naked will have to grin and bear the fact that you belong to someone else.’

 

“Where have we seen this design before Sherlock?” Eurus sneered.

 

Sherlock found himself lapsing into his mind palace. He saw a younger version of himself, chased by Eurus, running through the hallways and rooms of their childhood home. He saw the familiar faces of their housekeeper and nanny, a younger version of their mother and their aunt in the parlor, before he ran into a room that he recognized as Mycroft’s. Tall and plump Mycroft sat surrounded by trophies and medals, all won at shooting competitions, debates, quizzes and science fests. He was designing an insignia for his school’s culture club, of which he had just been elected president. “Shoo-shoo you pests,” he kicked them out of his room, “You’re not allowed in here.”

 

“Fatso,” Eurus snapped. “Ugly duckling,” Mycroft snorted, “And remember, I can slim down if I want.”

 

“When I grow up I will damage you,” Eurus balled her small fists. “Oh I will cut off those precious pigtails of yours,” Mycroft threatened.

 

Amidst that bicker, Sherlock got a glimpse of the drawing. Instantly he was transported back to his current self and he gasped, “Mycroft created that for his school culture club.”

 

“The same Mycroft who is on his way here,” Eurus said sadly, “The product we created as a group is for Mycroft. He wants to keep it and trade it for big favors from other governments. He is gunning for a glamorous role as the country’s ambassador to US, to get a knighthood, to become a key member of the UN. He’ll then marry Isaac Murtagh and even mummy and daddy will welcome their son in law with open arms. Mycroft has hidden our family in different places Sherlock and made you unwittingly give away your location. Jim whisked you away so we meet here, so we collaborate under false pretenses and complete the work. We’ve been manipulated and fooled. Now I know how Jim entered Sherrinford disguised as another patient.”

 

“Myc helped him,” Sherlock felt his heart break. No, it burned, it burned with shame and sorrow. Jim had kept his word for real. He had burned the heart out of him.

 

“Once this is over we’ll be in a mental institution,” Eurus’s shoulders slumped, “We’ve been used. We can’t do anything because you’re now a criminal and I’m an escaped madwoman.”

 

“I won’t be played like this,” Sherlock snarled, “I’ll escape right away. Nobody fools Sherlock Holmes, not for too long. As for Jim and Myc, let them be happy. But how would they be happy? How can anyone be happy after hurting people who love and trust them?”


	37. Can't escape from you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love burns the heart out of Sherlock, making him stupid for once....

Sherlock was blinded by his grief. Never before in his life, not even on those occasions when he had watched people die or John get threatened, had he felt so abysmally low or so utterly betrayed. He wanted to cry, he wanted the tears to roll down his cheeks but somehow he couldn’t. His eyes burned and throbbed with unshed tears but they were dry as dust, as if someone had rubbed them with sandpaper.

 

His throat was choked, his chest tight, his hands shaking as he took in one last look of a sleeping Jim. The weather had worsened outside and thunder and lightning were beginning to take a hold over the dark night skies. Sherlock remembered how much Jim hated thunderstorms.

 

For a second he wanted to drop those two bags and backpack and rush back into the arms of his man, cuddle him close and assure him that he was going nowhere. But one look at Eurus and Sherlock knew just how low he had fallen. Even after knowing how Jim had played him and used him, he was still willing to forgive that man?! How desperate and needy had he become! With slow steps he left the room and headed towards the door, taking in short gasping breaths and letting out deep shuddering sighs. The world he had built up over nine and half months had proved to be a sand castle, washed away by a sweep of the truth wave. The forever he had been promised just a couple of hours ago had turned out to be a pack of cards, folding up easily when secrets were revealed.

 

“Sherlock wait,” Eurus grabbed his arms.

 

“Now what?” He snapped.

 

“Where will you go? How will you go?”

 

“I don’t know. I just need to go, that’s all.”

 

“No matter where you go, Myc and Jim will find you and drag you back.”

 

“No they won’t. I haven’t yet forgotten how to escape surveillance and work like a true consulting detective. You come with me too, I will take you back to England where you’ll be safe, at least.”

 

“No,” she said, smiling softly, “No brother. We can’t go together. The best chance we have against them is if we split up. I will take the internal route through China and try to fly back from Mongolia. Don’t worry, I have made my arrangements. As for you, I have something in mind. Here, take this money,” she handed him a carpet bag stuffed with cash, “Pay cash and buy one of the small fishing boats, motor powered with backup sails just in case there is a problem. Head to Lan Lan Island from where you can get a ship that takes you to the Gulf and from there head back to England. Here, your passport.”

 

“My fake passport,” Sherlock murmured.

 

“No, the real one,” Eurus said, “I had it taken from Mycroft. Bon voyage Sherlock. Reach home safe and do come to see me now and then. I won’t let everyone know I can talk and react normally as before. Words seem like noise to me nowadays so when you visit, we’ll just communicate through our music.”

 

Sherlock gave her a hug and, after a moment’s deliberation, rushed down the hallway and towards the elevators. As he entered one of them, he felt as if a large part of his life was being sawed off and tossed away. He was bleeding emotionally, psychologically, spiritually. Even his physical balance was compromised as a result of this trauma and he was shocked to find how badly it had impacted his gross motor coordination. He slammed his face into the elevator wall while trying to get out through the door. A Chinese man was entering the elevator and he said something to Sherlock in Mandarin, probably the Chinese equivalent of ‘freak’, but the detective didn’t hear a word.

 

***

 

His tears came down as the raindrops pelted down on the sea.

 

“JIMMYYYYYYY!!!”

 

His Jim was gone forever from his life. Everything he had lived in the past months was a lie. His cry of anguish was drowned by the tremendous and combined roar of the waves, rain and thunder. Sherlock’s lungs burned from the force of his scream, his tears now flowing freely and endlessly. Being alone after a long time had finally given him the liberty of ‘letting go’ and his angst and grief came pouring out in a torrent of screams, tears, snot, saliva and gut-wrenching sobs. His face was a mess, his throat was sore, his chest hurt and he hit the deck on his knees. “Please,” he cried out aloud, “Please!”

 

He had no idea what he was asking for but somehow it felt right to stare up at the skies and plead. Maybe he was pleading for an end, he wasn’t so sure.

 

The fishing boat was not exactly new and there was no time to check it for faults and needed repairs. With the captain’s cabin on the upper level, accessible by a sweeping steel and wood staircase, the boat had a single cabin on the below deck and a small toilet and shower. The bow stern bridge jutted out into the sea as the waves splashed over it. The deck had all the necessary equipment needed for fishing - gunwale, bulwark, boom and keel, along with a couple of chairs and benches to sit on. The engine room was a level below, accessible from the cabin via a spiraling staircase.

 

All of this was lost on Sherlock who had his head and heart filled with such extreme melancholy that he even contemplated slitting his wrist or jumping off the boat into the dangerous waves surrounding him.

 

Until it occurred to him that the very move of starting a long and perilous journey on this boat, especially with a horrible storm closing in, was a suicidal move in itself. From the way the sea raged around him and the way the boat was tossed around by the waves, his chances of surviving this day was slim to none.

 

Maybe that’s good. Who should I live for? Who even cares? Oh, maybe John does. But what face will I show him on my return? An idiot who actually trusted his nemesis and ran off with him, ignoring his friends and family.

 

Jim’s smiley face showed in the clouds and waves around him and Sherlock cried harder, curled up on the deck, the rain soaking through his raincoat and seeping into his clothes. How was it even possible that Jim could have been so cruel? Those moments of intimacy, those cuddles, those hugs and kisses, the naughty moments together, Jim snuggled into his arms and singing out of tune, feeding each other ice cream in bed while watching an action thriller, did those moment of genuine happiness mean nothing to Jim? Was it all just an eyewash? And was he so mediocre that Jim had chosen Mycroft over him?

 

Mycroft!!!

 

Sherlock crawled into the cabin and collapsed on the couch there. Still sobbing, by now tired and drained of all energy, cold and shivering in his wet clothes, he wondered if Mycroft would at least thank him for clearing the way. With him out of the picture Jim would be free to be with the eldest Holmes sibling. No conscience or guilt factor anymore, just a beautiful and smooth journey into the sunset for the lovers.

 

“Will you be happy Jim?” Sherlock cried out as fresh tears welled up in his eyes, “You may have Mycroft, you may have the most coveted product of the century that gives you bargaining power with any government. But will these things truly make you happy?”

 

For a moment he even considered letting Sebastian know what a royal ride they had been taken on. Jim had never cared about them. He had just used them shamelessly.

 

Strange how he missed the blond, blue-eyed former sniper. Sebastian was a kinder, fairer man, far more dependable and steady than Jim could be, far nicer than Mycroft could be. Then it struck him like a thunderbolt. So that’s why Sebastian had gracefully bowed out when Jim and Mycroft had hooked up. It wasn’t an action based on fear or compulsion but a sense of resignation. Between walking away or being kicked aside, he had chosen the more dignified former option.

 

It had all been there before him, hiding in plain sight. Like an ass he had ignored them.

 

Jürgen’s murder, Seb being sent away, Mycroft not moving hell and earth to find Sherlock, all of these incidents and patterns told a tale.

 

Sherlock cried and cried out of self-pity and a dread of the loneliness that stared him square in the face, until he passed out from sheer exhaustion.

 

***

 

A sudden pain to his side made Sherlock wake up. His head reeled, his shoulder throbbed with pain and his joints were so stiff from cold that he couldn’t move without groaning with pain and clamping up completely for a few seconds. Within moments he realized that he was lying on the wooden floor of the boat and not on the couch anymore. The vessel was being tossed around so hard by the waves that he had tumbled down from the couch while still asleep. The boat rolled to its other side Sherlock found objects and items roll towards him, dislodged from their original places.

 

One of them was a knife and Sherlock grabbed it. “What is the point of this life?” He asked aloud, tired of being miserable, “What am I living for?”

 

He grabbed the knife harder, turned it sideways and raised his arm to slash the blade down on his wrist, effectively cutting off the two important veins. He could almost smell the copper scent of blood and feel the gush of the warm fluid over his skin, the slow but sure approach of death and the sublime serenity of passing on into a better space. For a moment he vaguely wished for Jim to see him like this, so the heartless bastard at least blamed himself for breaking Sherlock. Maybe even Mycroft would be moved at this sight. Perhaps his death would melt that iceberg a little.

 

He raised his arm higher and, biting down on his lip, brought the tip of the fishing knife hard on his wrist.

 

His eyes must have closed at the last moment because something happened and the knife never made contact with his skin. Instead someone twisted his wrist painfully and Sherlock was forced to let go of the knife-handle, dropping the item on the floor.

 

“You scatterbrain, crass idiot, emotional bloody fool!!!”

 

“I must be dead,” Sherlock murmured, wondering when it happened, “I can hear Jimmy.”

 

“This IS Jimmy you arse hole. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

 

“Wha…..”

 

“Baker Street idiot has put himself into a state of shock. All right then, I think this will get you out of you shock-zone.” A stinging slap landed on his cheek and made his free hand fly there and caress the heated skin. He was sure fingerprints had started forming there already, blazing red marks over white hot flesh. But the slap had worked its magic and Sherlock’s eyes finally focused on the man leaning next to him and almost at eye contact level with him. He blinked a few times but the picture wouldn’t change.

 

Jim Moriarty was here.

 

The next few moments felt weird and surreal, unbelievable and completely strange. Jim was saying something but Sherlock couldn’t hear a word, the boat swayed this way and that but Sherlock didn’t feel anything at all, a giant wave crashed against the boat and shattered one of the glasses on the porthole window of the cabin but Sherlock couldn’t be bothered to see it. He just kept harking at Jim, raising both hands to touch his cheeks, hairs, neck and lips. Yes, Jim was here, Jim was real, Jim had come to save him. But why? Why would Jim even care? Unless of course he had judged the man wrong!

 

_Oh shit!_

 

Did Eurus manipulate him again? He had a very bad feeling now. Suddenly he felt foolish.

 

“J-Jim….”

 

This time he could hear the man speak, even if the sounds were faint and seemed to be coming from a mile away instead of a spot inches from his face. “You donkey,” Jim grumbled, trying to get Sherlock on his feet, “Got your arse frozen and your neck stiff. If anything happens to you I will flog you, roast you over a slow fire and then hang you upside down over a pit of scorpions. You freak, you stupid emotional gullible prick.”

 

“I-I need to tell y-you something.”

 

“No, I NEED to tell you something.”

 

“Jimmy….p-please, I have t’….”

 

“And I NEED to.”

 

“Oh!”

 

“This shithole of a boat,” Jim began but suddenly the boat turned to its side and the two men crashed against the bed, quickly rolling away to the side to avoid getting crushed like tomatoes by a large supplies cupboard that had turned over.

 

“Huh….what?” Sherlock asked, unsure of what Jim intended to say.

 

“This shithole of a boat is about to crash against those rocks and break apart.”

 

It was only then that Sherlock truly realized the danger they were in. They were close to some island and the jagged rocks were way too close to the boat. The fishing boat had not held up too well in the storm. It simply wasn’t strong enough. Sherlock had no idea how long he had been out and naturally he hadn’t done his bit to keep the vessel on track either. Parts of it was disintegrating from the main hull. Any moment the water would rush in and engulf them both.

 

“I won’t let you die Jim,” Sherlock suddenly found himself shouting.

 

“Hold this line, it will help us get to my boat,” Jim wound the sturdy rope around his own waist and looped it around Sherlock’s waist, putting perfect sailor’s knots to hold them in place. He handed Sherlock a life jacket and snarled ‘Don’t just stare at me, put this thing on’. Sherlock quickly did so, noticing that Jim had a lifejacket on and his face and hairs were wet, indicating a wade through the waters. Holding the rope with one hand and Jim’s hand with the other, he waded out of the chest deep water and came out on the deck of his boat, a groan of dismay leaving him instantly.

 

The storm was an absolute killer. The winds were icy and traveling and hundreds of miles per hours. The waters were raging around them, waves over a hundred feet high. Even an optimist would have to say their lives were in danger.

 

“My boat,” Jim shouted over the noise, “It’s in a safe spot lodged between those two rocks, sort of a small lagoon.”

 

“H-How do we get there?”

 

“Only way is underwater.”

 

“Oh…kay.”

 

“If we try above, or try those rocks, we will either get swept away or smash our head and die. Dive deep, keep holding the line and haul yourself closer and closer to those two rocks. You can surface just once for a breath so take a deep breath.”

 

“I love….you…!!!”

 

At first Jim gave him an eyeroll as if he meant to say ‘I can’t believe you’re saying this at this hour’ but soon that gaze softened, the smile broadened and Jim pressed his lips to Sherlock’s ear and whispered ‘I love you too’.

 

That was the moment Sherlock felt like the most powerful man in this world. If Jim loved him, if Jim was with him, he didn’t need to fear anything or anyone. Be it Mycroft or Hitler, a storm or a hurricane, he could handle it with ease.

 

“Here goes,” Jim said, “Stay close to me.”

 

Sherlock nodded and grabbed Jim’s hand, “And you to me!”

 

Jim simply grinned, showing nerves of steel.

 

***

 

It had taken them long, long time and oodles of effort to cross the hundred meters between Sherlock’s ailing fishing boat and Jim’s sophisticated mini yacht. When they were sufficiently close, Sherlock found that Jim had been not just clever but also lucky. Fortunately that spot he had discovered was a Godsent shelter. It lay between two islets with a huge arched rock hanging over them and joining the two landmasses like a humungous bridge. It provided the perfect precipice, shielding them from the rain and storm and also keeping them steady since the water wasn’t as choppy there as the open sea. The sea narrowed down as it flowed under the rock precipice and between the islets and opened out into a shallow lagoon ahead, sealed off on the other side by a third islet.

 

They were helped up on the deck by none other than the same Chinese man Sherlock remembered seeing in the elevator. “My butler,” Jim said, “Now give me a reason not to kill you right away.”

 

“Because you took too much pain and effort to save me,” Sherlock hugged Jim, suddenly feeling reenergized and rejuvenated, “Because you risked your life to save me, you did all you could to find me and you love me too much to lose me for real.” He took Jim into a hug and kissed him deep, happy to note that Jim was also kissing him back. Making a mental note of apologizing to Jim in several ways over the next few days, Sherlock decided to complete the verbal one first. “That said Jimmy, I am very sorry for what I did. I should have never left you or taken this stupid risk, just because Eurus told me some things.”

 

“Eurus,” Jim’s eyes held scorn and anger and a certain darkness that scared Sherlock, “I must have her disposed off.”

“No,” Sherlock said.

 

“No?” Jim tossed a towel at Sherlock while he accepted the other one from the butler, “You want to forgive someone who wanted to live your life?”

 

“She is my sister, she is unwell, and it was my mistake too that I believed her and some visual proofs she showed. I should have let my brain take over. Wasn’t my brain the most important thing about me? Shit, I can’t believe I turned out to be a harebrained nut.”

 

“Guess I am at fault too,” Jim said as he started to take off his wet suit while the butler helped Sherlock out of his wet clothes, “I once took on a bet that all three Holmes siblings would eat out of my hands. I had no clue one of them would do the same with me.” 


	38. The calm after and before two storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sherlock unite but realize that trouble never comes alone, or simply with a three-piece suit.

As the storm raged and the weather grew worse through the evening, the little yacht stood protected and in relatively tranquil waters of the mid-sea lagoon, swaying slightly but no more than the gentle rocking of a baby’s cradle. Brett Hong had brought his formidable sister Linda with him and together they managed things pretty well around the yacht, including preparing hot soup and some lip smacking noodles for the starving and shivering Sherlock and then letting them have their privacy in the biggest and most luxurious cabin on board, the one reserved for the master of the boat.

 

But the moment the door closed behind them, Jim’s face fell and Sherlock felt a pang of guilt in his chest. “How did you know where I was?” He asked, “Brett told you?”

 

“Yeah he told me as soon as I was awake this morning,” Jim said, “But I had already assumed something bad had happened overnight. You weren’t around but Eurus was and she acted like she was relieved to see your back. Then I put two and two together, traced the boat you had bought and the route you had asked for from the owner, then we chased you down. If I were to tell you the truth, I hadn’t expected to see you alive.” Suddenly Jim lost it and yelled, “What were you thinking you idiot? You thought you’d cross these seas, in this weather, in that rickety tub of yours?”

 

“I am sorry, I truly am. But then Eurus told me it’s Mycroft you love and…..”

 

“Sherlock, listen….”

 

“I guess I couldn’t take defeat. I was thinking it was a lose-lose game for me. If I get you my brother gets hurt. If he gets you, I feel kicked in the nuts. I was just….”

 

“Sherly listen to me, PLEASE!”

 

“Huh,” Sherlock stopped, looking at Jim fearfully. What had he done now?

 

“You have to accept one truth. Yes, Mycroft and I did have a brief relationship and I did develop a soft corner for him during that. But we weren’t compatible, he was very possessive and controlling and he literally chased me away. He forced me to abandon him. I am sorry Sherl, I can’t change the past. But what I can assure you is that I might have liked Mikey, I might have admired Eurus, but it’s always been you who’s been my…..”

 

Hope flared in Sherlock’s heart, “I have been your…..? Complete the sentence Jimmy, please!”

 

Jim looked at him with a coy smile, “The one who got me hard, got me thinking, got me wondering, got me smiling, got me worked up, got me aroused, got me stimulated, got me out of blue moods, you’ve done more for me than you’d ever know you fool. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you for an eternity. And then what do you do? Escape. Like an imprisoned animal who can’t wait to leave.”

 

“I can’t do much except apologize,” Sherlock sighed, feeling terrible, “Or maybe something more. Like this?”

 

He shed his clothes, all of them, till he stood before Jim naked as the day he had arrived in this world. His fine long limbs on display, elegance dripping off every inch of his smooth milky skin, his dark hairs, roseate blush and reddened lips a lovely contrast to that, he managed to turn Jim’s head and captivate him instantly. The criminal’s eyes glowed but this time it was not pure lust but also joy and relief. Sherlock realized with a slight shock that Jim had been as distressed to lose him as he had been distressed to walk away from the man. His feelings were returned, yes, they were finally returned. He was no longer alone in this.

 

“Let me make you mine Jimmy,” Sherlock offered, “Let me reclaim what I had been stupid enough to walk away from. Let me offer you a proper apology.”

 

“I am not sure you mean it,” Jim said but he didn’t object when Sherlock took his clothes off quickly but gently.

 

“I do mean it. Tell me what do I have to do to convince you.”

 

“Fuck me in nine different positions but don’t let me cum.”

 

“Jesus!”

 

“He is busy. No need to call him unless he can help.”

 

Sherlock laughed and kissed the tip of Jim’s nose, “Stop it. That’s funny and not good for the libido…..ohhhhh!”

 

Jim looked at him wickedly as he grabbed Sherlock’s jewels and squeezed and almost instantly a thin stream of clear pre-cum fluid trickled out of his cock. “Look at you Mr. Six Footer,” he licked a hot strip up Sherlock’s long neck, “So needy and eager to cum. Do you really think you’ll be able to hold on until we have tried nine positions and I have finally shot my load? Nahhh, I don’t think you’re up to it.”

 

“Isn’t that what you’d said when I joined you earlier this year? That crime might not suit me. Well, how do you think I did?”

 

“Crime suits you Sherly. And so do I.”

 

“I bet you do!!!”

 

Sherlock wasted no time in getting the brunette absolutely ready for their tempestuous round of sex. Using plenty of fingers and lube, lots of tongue on the smaller man’s cock and loads of dirty words into his ears, he finally had his Jimmy open and relaxed and ready to receive him properly and painlessly. His patience was rewarded when his cock slid into Jim’s hole like a sword disappears into its favorite and most snugly fitted sheath.

 

“Mooooove,” Jim begged and urged when Sherlock stilled completely inside him.

 

Praying and hoping his self-control stayed with him and his body didn’t let him down, Sherlock began to fuck Jim missionary style. Slinging his legs over his own shoulders, the detective pushed deeper and deeper inside his lover till he had Jim moaning relentlessly for release. Abruptly he slowed down and, showing great strength and agility, turned Jim around and put him on all fours without even pulling his cock out. A gasping, groaning Jim was soon close to the edge again but Sherlock slowed down just as he started feeling Jim’s cock throb in his fist. He stopped stroking him too.

 

“I-I take my words b-back, make me cum,” Jim begged.

 

“Nope,” Sherlock whispered hotly into his ears, “Not so soon.”

 

Over the next twenty minutes Sherlock tried every trick under the sun. He put Jim on his side and fucked him, he made Jim ride him, he put Jim on the floor with his head down and arse up in the air and drilled into him while crouching over him, he even fucked him sitting and standing and against the wall. But all along he kept his orgasm at bay and didn’t allow Jim to reach his. Not until the moment arrived when both of them were on the verge of passing out from arousal and pent-up need.

 

Grabbing Jim’s ankles, Sherlock fucked him into the mattress, his eyes trained on the Irishman’s face. He wasn’t disappointed with what he saw.

 

Jim looked radiant and rosy cheeked and dewy lipped as he came, as if he was having a ‘soul-orgasm’ this time. His eyes shone with orgasmic haze, his pupils almost entirely dilated, his mouth opened wide as screeches of ecstasy came out of it. His creamy release spread all over his own torso and part of Sherlock’s chest, his hands clawing and slapping at Sherlock as he was tossed in the monstrous waves of pleasure.

 

“FUCK Jimmy,” Sherlock suddenly yelled, realizing too late that he was about to cum too. In fact he came so hard he almost forgot his own name, shuddering through the huge climax like a tree ravaged by a cyclone. His cock was still buried deep in Jim and that was his ‘anchoring’, like the roots of a tree into the ground. But the rest of him shook with the almighty orgasm he had just experienced and strange noises of pleasure came out of his lungs.

 

When he finally stilled and fell down on the bed, his eyes closed on their own. The last thing he felt was Jim falling asleep in his arms, just like had had been doing for several months.

 

***

 

Sherlock woke up many hours later, with a pleasant feeling of being watched over. The first thing he saw was Jim’s dark eyes observing him. The same eyes that gave me nightmares, now waking me up with the sweetest feeling in the world. How things change with time!

 

“Been awake long?” He asked, rolling over to his back and stretching his arms and legs.

 

Jim’s eyes hungrily watched Sherlock’s nude frame as the covers moved and revealed most of it and the white limbs slowly came up around the criminal’s smaller frame, trapping him into a position of surrender. Sherlock’s face loomed over him as the detective separated Jim’s legs with his knee and pushed their groins together, effectively aligning their rapidly hardening morning wood and providing a couple of rubs to stoke arousal. Jim let out a slow shuddering moan and answered, “No, just woke up ten minutes ago to use the toilet and couldn’t go back to sleep after that.”

 

“Hmmm, what time is it?”

 

“Dunno. Who cares?”

 

“Let’s see, oh it’s five am. We’ve been asleep for ten hours.”

 

“Yeah, we turned in pretty early last night.”

 

“The storm has died down.”

 

“Yeah, it’s so calm suddenly. The silence is disturbing.”

 

Sherlock breathed in Jim’s scent and whispered, “That’s what I wanted to say. After all the enmity, adversities, scheming and plotting against each other, the grey area where neither of us knew whether we should trust each other, we have finally crossed all those stormy seas and reached a calm place. A quiet place. It feels a bit unreal, disconcerting. But that doesn’t mean we cannot enjoy it.”

“We can,” Jim traced Sherlock’s cheekbones with the tip of his index finger, “And we will.”

 

“You’d go legit?”

 

“And what will I do afterwards Sherlock? I need occupation. Otherwise the noise….”

 

“I will keep the noise at bay. I will be with you at every step. If there is a problem, a phase where one of us gets overwhelmed with ennui, we will face it together. You won’t face anything alone after today, not even boredom.”

 

Jim put his arms around Sherlock and drew his head down to his neck where the Englishman rested his forehead and placed a tender kiss. “I am scared Sherlock,” Jim confessed, “I don’t know if I can keep my promise. Yes, I would like to…..be safe…..not be hunted all the time…..to be with you anywhere and anytime without having to look over my shoulder. I want Sebastian to be with us from time to time because…..God help me, I miss him. I know I’ll never tell him this ever, not in front of him at least, but I do miss him.”

 

“We will find something to do,” Sherlock said, lifting his head and looking into Jim’s eyes, “We have the brains, you have the money, Seb has the brawn, you have the contacts and connections, I have the ideas, we will figure something out.”

 

“I also have protection,” Jim said in a tone that reminded Sherlock of the earlier Moriarty, a tone that reflected both arrogance and a sense of achievement, “That device we built to track satellites, to break any code that they set to monitor their satellites, that’s going to be our ticket to freedom, always. If any government or any enemy, no matter which country they belong to, tries to mess with us, all I have to do is leverage that device to shut down half of their security and surveillance systems. I can turn their weapons against them. This is the single most powerful weapon and the only one of its kind in the world.”

 

“It can destroy the world,” Sherlock said thoughtfully, “If it falls into the wrong hands.”

 

“Which is why its secret and its control will live and die with me,” Jim said, “For your sake and Sebby’s sake I won’t share those details with you. I had told you the truth that night. This assignment wasn’t for any client, it was for me. Now I guess it’s for us, you and me and my aides and comrades. If you wish to include your John in the circle then I am more than willing to accommodate.”

 

“Thanks,” Sherlock smiled, “He is a good man. I’d suffer if I were asked never to see him again….what happened?”

 

Jim was frowning. When Sherlock nudged him he got a start, “What?”

 

“You got lost for a moment. What happened? Is it something I said?”

 

“No. I was just thinking about Eurus.”

 

Sherlock sighed, “She hates anyone who gets close to me. Childhood issues you see. You know all about it.”

 

“Yes,” Jim nodded, “In this case she could get worse. Now she not only resents me being with you but also the fact that you are now my partner. She would have loved to be in your place. I think I made an error of judgement. Had I known she was so lethal in her jealousy I wouldn’t have called her here, nor would I have done my part to get her out of her ‘silent’ state. Disguised as ‘Matthew Martin’, a mad scientist, I spent hours communicating with her and drawing her out of her shell. Maybe it was better if she had been left in peace.” His jaw hardened, “Well, she is going back to Sherrinford sooner than she thinks. But she isn’t really someone I am too worried about. I am more worried about Mycroft. Tell me Sherlock, why can’t I really kill any of the Holmes clan? I could have, believe me.”

 

Sherlock snorted, “Of course I believe you. But I think I know why you can’t. You respect the Holmes intelligence pool. You know we are not ordinary. Most important of all, you have feelings for all three of us.”

 

“Rubbish,” Jim scoffed, “Only for you…..” He paused and looked into Sherlock’s green eyes that watched him with hawk like sharpness but mingled with the gentleness of a doe. For a second the mastermind seemed in two minds and his silence lingered on for a bit longer before he added to his earlier statement, “I love only you, not them. But yes, feelings can be more than just love. Yes, there is respect and a bit of awe because you guys are real geniuses. There is also a bit of affection because all of you are as troubled as I am. From the outside nobody would ever know but as an insider I have seen how many dysfunctionalities exist in the Holmes family.”

 

“You bet.”

 

“A sister with a truckload of issues, two brothers in love with the same man, parents who have been kept in the dark about most of these things, it can’t be called one big happy family.”

 

“No. But we are redeemable.”

 

“Yes, unlike mine.”

 

“You never told me about your family Jimmy.”

 

“Maybe later. Now is not the time.”

 

Sherlock understood and didn’t push his lover just yet. He didn’t want to start off their ‘new life’ with a ton of probing questions, putting Jim off with his curiosity. Jim would talk when he felt comfortable enough to talk. Now that they were committed and content, they had their entire lives ahead of them for this.

 

The most burning question in his mind had to be answered immediately though, even if that involved a member of his own clan. “Mycroft,” Sherlock said softly.

 

“I will handle him,” Jim replied. His eyes were a bit squinted and the pupils dilated slightly. Sherlock understood Jim was tense and unsure but unwilling to admit it.

 

“I’d hate to let you face it all by yourself,” the detective insisted, rolling them over in bed and spooning Jim this time, “Please involve me too.” “You really like to keep me jailed don’t you,” Jim chuckled, “Always trapping me in your arms.” He kissed Sherlock’s wrist, “Though this is one jail I wouldn’t mind being in. Feels nice to be trapped like this sometimes.”

 

“I promise I won’t trap you or ever make you feel like this relationship is a prison,” Sherlock murmured into Jim’s ears, “I will love you without stifling you, I’ll protect you without controlling you and I will enjoy you without overwhelming you. We will work hard, travel all over the world, continue to have our separate hobbies, have intelligent conversations along with marathon rounds of sex, get drunk and do crazy things sometimes. We will bicker, disagree and fight but never got to bed angry. My siblings and I might be weird but my parents are shockingly normal. If we can enjoy even fifty percent of the happiness they share as a couple, I’d say we’re blessed.”

 

“Hmmm…..It’s good you have a frame of reference. I don’t.”

 

“How about we create our own frame of reference? Set our own standards. Be our own yardstick. How about that?”

 

“Let’s see,” Jim sucked the tip of Sherlock’s finger lightly, “We are a unique couple. We have fought each other hard, tried to kill each other, missed each other later, worked together, pushed boundaries for each other, maybe we can eventually become an example for consulting detectives in love with consulting criminals.”

 

“Huh,” Sherlock snickered, “We are the only ones of our kind Jim.”

 

“So far we are. In the future there will be more.”

 

“Yup. I guess. So when do we call Sebastian? Where do we go from here?”

 

“Let me figure out something for Eurus and then…..”

 

Whatever Jim wanted to say afterwards was interrupted abruptly as the door to their cabin crashed open and half a dozen men in full protective gear with sophisticated weapons in their hands burst inside. Sherlock jumped up to a sitting position but Jim coolly turned his head and looked, disdain written all over his face. When Sherlock quickly pulled the covers over their bodies to hide their modesty, Jim simply uttered two words. “He’s here.”

 

The detective had guessed too and he blamed himself for it. He had distracted Jim long enough to give Mycroft a chance to swoop down with his entire army.

 

No sooner had he finished that thought, he saw the tall suit clad figure enter the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft had to find them eventually. Sorry about the cliffhanger.


	39. Losses and Gains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft wonders if he should pay too high a price for his obsession

“James! Sherlock!”

 

Jim just huffed out an annoyed breath, as if it wasn’t Mycroft, the most powerful man of England but an intrusive neighbor who had called in to ask for a bowl of sugar. Sherlock on the other hand felt his perfect world crumble around him, like a house made of clay under the heat of the blazing sun.

 

“Brother mine, so I finally found you and my hunch proved to be true,” Mycroft scrunched up his nose in disapproval when he realized the state the two men were in, “We’ll talk about your misdeeds later. Right now I need to talk to this criminal mastermind for a few minutes so, if you don’t mind, can you put on some clothes and wait in the next cabin. My men, of course, will escort you and be with you at all times so don’t try anything funny. I am afraid I can’t even ask them to give you privacy so you’ll have to put something on under those covers. James, you stay right there and don’t make any moves.”

 

Sherlock was appalled. His clothes lay in the far corner of the cabin. Nobody made any moves to hand them over to him so the only choice was to walk there, naked, and get into them in the open view of Mycroft’s men. Though not a prude and not unaccustomed to nudity or cantankerous situations like this, Sherlock hesitated. Somehow this move from Mycroft hurt him where it mattered, his dignity. That was one thing he had always refused to trade and to do so in front of Jim, the man both of them adored, was an even bigger insult.

 

Mycroft made a flourishing movement of his arm, as if trying to say ‘Go get your clothes little brother’. His smile was reptilian.

 

Several guns cocked and Sherlock decided to choose his battles wisely. He was no longer alone. He had Jim. Alone was no longer his protection and Mycroft was no longer his support and shelter. The unconditional love his elder sibling had once provided was considerably eroded in their changed scenario. In front of their common love interest, aka Jim, Mycroft had made the first move of one-upmanship.

 

He was about to get out of the covers and the bed when a firm hand pressed down on his knee and made him lie back down.

 

“Jim….”

 

“No Sherlock, I will go.”

 

“No Jim….”

 

“James,” Mycroft’s voice rose.

 

Jim snorted, “If he can be abused like this, maybe I should get used to it too. After all, what a man can do to his own family can easily be replicated across all his relationships.” With that, he swiftly got out of bed and stepped towards the couch where their clothes were, naked and gorgeously attractive with his mussed hair, smooth and hairless body and tight buns.

 

“Get out of here all of you,” Mycroft ordered and his men scuttled out, staying outside the door and not daring to look at Jim on their way out. “You brat,” Mycroft grabbed a robe and threw it around Jim, “Don’t dare do that again.”

 

“Oh Iceman, do be reasonable now,” Jim spoke in a tone of mock tiredness, rolling his shoulders as Mycroft tied the sash around his waist, “When you asked Sherlock to parade naked before your men I thought it was some sort of fetish for you. What? Why are you staring at me like that? I am not kidding, I seriously thought you had a fetish of some kind to see young men walk naked across the room while you stand there in your ten-thousand-dollar suit, fifty thousand dollar watch and holding your faggotty umbrella. Now, if that was not some fetish but a sick way to show your brother who has the power, then I suppose you’d want to use that power on me too. Right?”

 

“I didn’t hear any of that nonsense,” Mycroft said, “Just come home with me and Sherlock will be safe and unharmed. In any case I can’t really harm my brother. He is my blood.”

 

“No Jim,” Sherlock almost got out of bed when he remembered he was still naked.

 

Mycroft looked irritated. He tossed Sherlock’s clothes at him and turned to Jim, “As I was saying just now…..”

 

“You want to do a tradeoff, yet again,” Jim sighed, “You remember how it went last time.”

 

“It will be better,” Mycroft’s voice softened uncharacteristically, “A thousand times better. I have learned my lessons. I promise you James, I will spend more time with you and your freedom won’t be curbed. You won’t regret it this time. I won’t mess up again.”

 

“You already did,” Sherlock said angrily, feeling a bit better now that he was no longer naked, “You walked into his bedroom, insulted his partner and threatened him subtly about consequences if he didn’t listen to you. That is the biggest mess in a relationship, coercion.”

 

“Now you will give me relationship advice?” Mycroft sneered, but his voice was calm and he had a mocking smile on his face.

 

“Yeah, perhaps,” Sherlock got out of bed finally and stepped between his brother and his lover, “Because I am the one he loves, not you. I have lived with him for far longer than you and he did earlier. He chose to come to me and I chose to leave my life and friends behind and travel with him. We are two consenting adults and we have chosen each other, there is no coercion, force or blackmail in our relationship.”

 

“Really?” Mycroft said, “Is that true James?”

 

Jim uncharacteristically looked away this time, as if he was caught.

 

“Johann Robert Woznick, Agent 05, the same man Sherlock gunned down while trying to prove himself as an amateur sleuth,” Mycroft chose to speak each word slowly, ensuring every word was coated and covered with ice, “You stole that info from my repository while doing your intel on Sherlock and I am sure you used that to blackmail him initially. Did he not do that, Lockie?” He looked at his younger brother keenly. Even though he was a sociopath and used to lying through his teeth, Sherlock couldn’t manage to pretend or fake it this time. With time and varied experiences, situations had changed for him and so had his persona. Sherlock simply stayed quiet and so did Jim.

 

“So I am correct, as always,” Mycroft snorted, “It’s easier to proclaim virtue than to practice it, isn’t it?”

 

“I never claimed to be virtuous,” Jim broke his silence, “Unlike you, I don’t hesitate to call myself a villain.”

 

“Am I a villain?” Mycroft asked, “Tell me the truth James, am I really a villain? I have manipulated and lied, made cunning moves and sometimes conspired against people and institutions, but none of them have been for my own selfish interests. It’s always been for the greater good. While my moves may have hurt a few they have also saved many. At the end of the day those numbers count.”

 

He looked at Sherlock, “How many times have I saved your ass brother mine? How many times have I helped you with money, power, influence and connections? And how many times have you gone out of your way to help me, just me? Never. You worked for MI5 and MI6 but not until the case interested you very much or you had been forced to do it to save your hide for some other mistake you made. Have you ever considered paying back a little?”

 

Sherlock’s heart sank. Mycroft was right. Since his childhood he had always lived under the reassuring shelter of ‘If something goes wrong Myc will set it right’.

 

“Sherlock? Sherly?” Jim growled at him.

 

“Huh?” He looked at his lover blankly.

 

“Don’t let him do this to you,” Jim said, eyes darting back and forth between the two siblings, “He’s manipulating you.”

 

“I need time with James,” Mycroft said sternly, “Leave us alone for a bit.” When Sherlock hesitated, he added, “I had him before you did. For God’s sake, at least respect that.”

 

Something snapped inside Sherlock and his voice was firm and unwavering this time, his narrowed eyes spitting fire. “I know you have done a lot for me Myc, but those were not safety deposits in a bank. You can’t cash in on them like postdated checks. If I have benefitted from your patronage then you’ve benefitted from my efforts. Everyone knows how much you hate legwork and I did all that for you, without pay mostly. And I am not talking about cash payments, I am also talking about due credits and recognition for a job well done, which I mostly passed on to you.”

 

“Why is it,” Mycroft shot back, “That you must have whatever I like. Dad gave me his pocketwatch. The next day you take it from me because you liked it too. Mum gives me a rare book that’s out of print now and you arrive at my place asking to borrow it and never return it later. For the first time in my life I fall for someone, help him out of his crime-ridden past and try to settle down with him and you step in again. Why? Do you enjoy taking what’s not yours?”

 

Jim watched the spectacle of two brothers reduced to animosity and hatred, each one spewing venom at the other, two brilliant men who were once firm allies now degenerating towards enmity, threats and abuse. For a moment a wave of bitterness washed over him. He would have loved to watch this had it happened six years ago. But now the situation was different. He loved Sherlock, he was habituated to the detective’s presence and starry-eyed devotion towards him and didn’t wish to lose it. Sherlock was his anchor, his mate, his soul twin. Nobody understood him as well as his Sherly did. At the same time he recognized a grain of truth in Mycroft’s words, that at some point the Mycroft and he had some feelings for each other. Maybe he still did. He wasn’t sure if that was because Mycroft was Sherlock’s brother or because he still had unresolved feelings for the MI6 boss.

 

“Sherlock don’t force me to reopen the Woznick file,” Mycroft shook a finger.

 

“Mycroft, don’t force me to shame you before mummy and daddy and then the media,” Sherlock was shouting by now, “Enough of your bullying.”

 

Jim felt something shift inside him. His head was spinning. He remembered his parents arguing like this. He always felt helpless and small when that happened. And one day his elder sister, who had also suffered from neglect and abuse just like him, had slashed her throat right before him. She had been unable to handle the tension, the angst and the constant fear of losing one or both parents during their violent fights.

 

“Things come to me late, always late,” he murmured and hearing him speak, the brothers stopped arguing and looked, “So late that their value no longer appeals to me. I get them when they turn ordinary.”

 

“Jim…”

 

“James….”

 

“I can’t go on like this.”

 

Jim’s eyes looked glazed, dull, he was lapsing into an episode. “Jim come here,” Sherlock opened out his arms, “Jim please, we will talk about this. Don’t do something crazy.”

 

“Crazy, hahahahaha, you calling me crazy?” Jim let out a manic laugh, shaking his head and inching towards the bed, “Both of you know it already, yeah I am a bit crazy, aren’t I?” He sat down on the edge of the bed and fiddled with a pillow, eyes on the two tense men before him, “What have you taken me for huh? A scrap of meat to fight over? Isn’t my opinion important? Did you bother to ask me who I wish to be with? You idiots, I am James Moriarty, not some everyday Joe who will bend over and offer his hole to you just because you happen to be a ‘Holmes’. Well, fuck you both, I don’t need to be with any of you. In fact, I am done with this fucking life, it’s not worth it anymore.”

 

“Jim NO,” Sherlock knew Jim had grabbed it. It was under the pillow. The very thing that was supposed to protect them was now the biggest threat to Jim.

 

“What?” Mycroft looked at his brother, then at Jim.

 

“G-Gun.”

 

“What gun? Oh God, James, look we can talk about this.”

 

“Nononononono,” Jim was grinning like a loon, his voice sing-song, his expression lapsing to the mania-tinged, trigger-happy, thug-like days of the past, “I don’t want to talk. Talking is so boring, this is all so boring.”

 

“Give me the gun right now,” Sherlock lunged at Jim.

 

“I am so done with this life,” Jim rolled away.

 

“Hold him Sherlock,” Mycroft jumped into the melee as well.  


At first Sherlock did manage to take the gun away from Jim but the canny criminal kneed him on the belly and grabbed it back. The next moment Mycroft pinned him down and was about to restrain him when Jim hit him hard on the cheek with the alarm clock. As Mycroft clutched at his bleeding cheekbone and Sherlock doubled over with pain, the criminal mastermind snatched the gun once again. “Baaarts scene,” Jim sang, trying to aim at his temple, “Maybe not the mouth thiiiiss time!”

 

Mycroft and Sherlock did manage to grab him and his arm again but not in time. By then Jim had pulled the trigger.

 

The gunshot was deafening and for several seconds Sherlock felt as if he had shattered his own eardrums with that. He couldn’t hear a thing. But his vision was okay and what he saw froze the blood in his veins.

 

Mycroft was screaming in panic. Jim had missed his aim, thanks to their intervention, but the bullet had hit him just below the collarbone. His robe was slowly getting soaked in blood as he lay there, unconscious and injured, between two men who loved him to death.

 

***

 

 _Enemies and rivals in good times, friends and co-dependents in times of tragedy_. Mycroft remembered something like this being said by one of his grandparents when he was very young. He had no siblings yet and was the apple of everyone’s eye. He distinctly remembered overhearing his grandma or grandpa telling his dad that they needed to have more children because Mycroft seemed lonely and selfish. “He needs to learn to share, to guide, to understand and to forgive. If he grows up alone and enjoys everything you can possibly give him, he will develop a sense of entitlement that can be ruinous.”

 

His dad had said Mycroft might not get along with siblings because of his insular and quiet nature and that was when the comment of ‘rivals in good times, friends in timed of tragedy’ was made.

 

The truth behind that statement ricocheted in his ears thirty-four years later as he sat outside the intensive care unit of Hong Kong’s biggest private hospital, Sherlock’s curly hairs tickling the side of his face as his brother slept on his shoulder. Only an hour ago the doctor had informed them that Jim had lost too much blood and, thanks to the meds he had taken some time ago, developed a sort of resistance to some antibiotics. His fate hung in the balance, about fifty-fifty, and they couldn’t really confirm his chances of making a full recovery unless twenty-four hours had passed.

 

Sherlock had quietly got up and left the place but half an hour later Mycroft had found him in the chapel next door, bawling his eyes out. He had never seen Sherlock cry, not since ‘Redbeard’.

 

“None of this would have happened had I not showed up to stake my claim,” he had murmured, deciding to support his brother at this hour.

 

Sherlock had been resistant at first but given in easily when Mycroft had soothed him with promises of a better time and Jim’s recovery. “Doc is being conservative, he will be awake in less than ten hours,” was what he had said, sounding much more confident than he felt.

 

Obviously he had lied but it had worked well. Sherlock had calmed down enough to fall into a doze once they had returned to the waiting room outside the ICU, after taking a few light bites at the cafeteria. It was nearly midnight after all and neither of them had eaten anything all day.

 

Mycroft sat like a stone, gaze focused on the door leading to the ICU. Jim was in a VIP room and they were in a VIP lounge, a secure place where their privacy was completed assured. Nobody else was allowed in that area unless they were doctors, nurses, attendants or visitors for the patient. But as he sat there, listening to the quiet rhythms of Sherlock’s breathing, Mycroft couldn’t help but think about the ICU he had once visited as a child. It was a visit to one of his dad’s childhood friends, a man who had fallen on hard times and couldn’t afford private healthcare at an old age.

 

He had seen patients of all ages and colors there, their families sitting around them either in a stupor or in tears. He remembered the helplessness and fear he saw in their eyes. While leaving that place he had made a solemn promise to himself, he never wanted to be near an ICU again.

 

Yet here he was, right where he never wanted to be. The smell of antiseptic, the eerie silence, the distant sounds of ambulances arriving and leaving, he found each of those stimuli a painful cross to bear. He had brought doom not only on himself but also his family. His normally strong and intelligent brother was reduced to a weeping, shaking vegetable who could neither hold himself together nor see any light at the end of the tunnel. Lying inside there, battling death and rejecting life was the man who held his heart in the palm of his hand. Once upon a time Jim was in his arms and their future was in these very hands of his. He had his chance and had blown it. Was he going to get another chance to redeem himself, to save Jim, to make it up to Sherlock.

 

Sherlock!!!

 

God, if something happened to Sherlock would mummy and daddy forgive him? Would he forgive himself?

 

Somewhere in the past he had declared Eurus dead just because he thought that she would have brought more pain to the family with her existence than her absence. Now he was at the same crossroads again, this time debating over whether he should just walk away from it all and let a rumor float around that he had met his end. Maybe take Jim and leave, start a new life elsewhere.

 

“J-Jimmy,” Sherlock murmured and almost fell on the floor, losing his balance.

 

“I got you,” Mycroft grabbed him and steadied him.

 

“Uhnn….Jim?”

 

“I’ll wake you when he’s awake.”

 

“O…kay….” Sherlock’s head felt heavier on his shoulder and his breathing sounds evened out. He was asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters and then an epilogue.


	40. I never loved you James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft finds it almost impossible to let go

A few hours had passed. It was close to 4 am.

 

“No,” Mycroft sighed, “I can’t do this.”

 

All of a sudden, a severe rebuke sounded in his ears, a rebuke delivered in his own voice. He jerked his head to the right and saw himself standing at the sliding doorway leading to the hallways outside. “Go on,” his other self-mocked him in a derogatory tone, “Say I am not real. My dear man, I am as real as your conscience. As long as you’re still human and not some heartless debauch plotting selfish schemes against his own family, you won’t be rid of me. But you can try. Just drug your brother, get you James out of here and leave. Nobody will find you guys, you know you can ensure that. Go on, be a bastard. Let the inner bastard in Mycroft Holmes come out for once.”

 

“I didn’t do anything a million other men haven’t done before me,” Mycroft lashed out, “I was only trying to get back my love.”

 

“Your love? You truly love him?”

 

“Yes, yes I do.”

 

“You also acknowledge that he loves Sherlock?”

 

“Yeah, but that’s because he is misguided…..”

 

“Yet you’re trying to separate them. Two people who love each other, one of them your baby brother and the other man who’s supposed to be the love of your life.”

 

“Yeah,” Mycroft frowned, “So?”

 

“If you truly were a loving elder brother, a son who cares about his parents and a man who is truly in love, you wouldn’t do this. You really wouldn’t. You don’t love James, you just want to own James. That’s not love Mr. Holmes, that’s called a libidinous, egoistic pursuit of an object.”

 

“What rubbish,” Mycroft growled.

 

His image responded to him with a sly grin, “Then tell me something. If it was you whom James had chosen and Sherlock had cunningly separated the two of you, calling Moriarty ‘his true love’, how would you have responded or reacted to such scheming?”

 

“Sherlock would NEVER be such a prick.”

 

“But you can be?”

 

Mycroft felt his heart skip a beat. Before he could recover from that unsettling self-discovery, he heard footsteps and the sounds of a door opening. With his heart in his mouth, Mycroft looked up at the tall mustached man who stood looking down at them with sympathy. “Are you both the family members of Mr. Isaac Murtagh?” He enquired, “I am Dr. Brian Havel, I am in charge of his case.”

 

“Mycroft,” Mycroft shook Sherlock by the shoulder, “And this is Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock was on his feet instantly, his blood running to his feet. Unknowingly he grabbed Mycroft’s hand tightly, as if trying to draw the strength he was missing from his elder brother. A sense of déjà vu filled Mycroft and he remembered Sherlock’s first day at primary school. He had gone to drop him off and his baby brother had held his hand just like this, tight as a tourniquet, silently asking him for support. He looked at Sherlock and once again saw that four-year-old next to him, shaking and nervous and for once, human. Repentance filled him from top to toe as he thought about his actions and how he had caused this misfortune to all. A powerful, wealthy and successful man who was revered across the country and by all the intelligence teams in the world, betraying his own brother so he could bully his brother’s boyfriend into marrying him.

 

What the hell had he done?

 

His thoughts were interrupted by the doctor’s heavy voice, “I suppose Mr. Murtagh is Christian?”

 

“Yes,” Mycroft said, “But why do you ask?”

 

“In case you want to summon a priest. We do know someone who can come down.”

 

“No, why would we call a priest? He is alive.”

 

“Mr. Holmes please stay calm……Just a precaution.”

 

“To hell with your precautions,” Sherlock shouted, stepping forward and almost grabbing the doctor’s coat lapels before Mycroft held him back, “He is alive, he is a living and breathing man as we speak and you….you’re talking about last rites…..listen doctor, if you summon that priest I will put that man on the bed right next to Ji…..Isaac. I will slit his throat and yours too, if you can’t save my boyfriend I will….I will…….Oh God, Oh God, no, please no…..!”

 

The doctor looked at Mycroft, “Chances are slim to none. We are trying one last time, a new medicine that works when all else fails. Let’s not give up hope yet, but I won’t keep you in the dark. He is in a serious condition and slipping into coma. If things don’t improve he will be….”

 

“On ventilator?” Mycroft felt his heart hammer in his chest.

 

“Yes, unfortunately. But please, take care of your brother. I think he is the worst hit by this…..do you want me to give him a sedative?”

 

“Yes,” Mycroft looked at Sherlock who was pacing around the room and talking to himself, “Yes, I think he would need that.”

 

***

 

Sherlock saw Jim everywhere he looked. The criminal mastermind was swimming in an indoor pool and as soon as Sherlock walked closer to the edge, a hand reached out and grabbed his ankle. In a flash Sherlock was in the water and Jim’s triumphant, naughty laughter reverberated in his ears. Suddenly the whole scenario changed and they were on Barts rooftop, but not to threaten or to commit suicide. They were sitting on a thin blanket, the starry summer skies gloriously beautiful that night. Jim was explaining stars and constellations to him. Without warning the stars disappeared and he saw himself standing in a church, waiting for someone. Seconds later, in walked his Jim, radiant and handsome in an elegant maroon suit and a brilliant smile on his lips.

 

“I got the ring,” Sherlock looked in his left pocket, then his right, then around him. “John,” he called out, “I can’t find the ring, Jawn!”

 

But John didn’t answer, in fact he wasn’t even there to help Sherlock. The chapel quickly grew darker. Rains started outside and Jim’s happy figure slowly grew sad and distant as his former nemesis waved him goodbye. “Find the ring,” he pleaded, voice fading, “Please Sherly.” Sherlock let out a scream and ran towards the door, wishing to find the ring and to stop Jim from leaving. But half-way through he stumbled and landed on the aisle, a cry of frustration bursting out of his chest. “Jim wait,” he said, “I will find the ring. I will get you another ring. In fact, we don’t even need a ring. Come back.”

 

“Sherlock.”

 

“Please Jimmy.”

 

“Lockie?”

 

“Don’t go.”

 

“Sherlock what are you doing? Stop!”

 

Sherlock blinked, “Huh?”

 

He found himself on the floor of a shared private room at the hospital. There was a woman on the other bed and she was panicking and screaming in Chinese as Sherlock crawled and rolled on the floor, babbling nonsense. His brain slowly kicking into fear, the detective realized he had been sedated and put to bed for a few hours so he could get some much-needed sleep. It was morning outside, or rather, it was noon already. “You fell off the bed and started looking for something blindly,” Mycroft helped him sit back up on the bed, “Relax Sherlock, it was only a nightmare. You are all right and so is James.”

 

Relief washed over Sherlock momentarily but it was followed by a bigger wave of panic. “No,” he croaked, “Something bad has happened to him. You’re trying to prep me for it.”

 

“Dear God no, what a doubting Thomas you’ve become,” Mycroft handed him a tall glass of water which Sherlock downed in no time, “Why would I lie? I know you don’t have many reasons to trust me but please do trust me on this one, I love James and if anything had happened to him I would either be out of my mind or a dead man with a bullet in his head. His condition is improving steadily. The new drug worked like magic and his body is slowly throwing out all the infection bearing bacteria. His system is not attacking itself, it’s building immunity and all his vitals are improving. The doctor says his chances are now eighty-five percent.”

 

“I wanna see him,” Sherlock demanded.

 

“He isn’t awake yet though.”

 

“He will soon be.”

 

“I want to be there when he does. Please Myc.”

 

“Of course you can be there for a few hours. In fact, I have an idea. Why don’t you take a turn watching over him while I go take a nap in a nearby hotel?”

 

“Yes,” Sherlock said, “I want to be with him. How long have I been away, I mean asleep?”

 

“Seven hours,” Mycroft replied with gentle affection, “But you needed it.”

 

***

 

It wasn’t until nine in the evening, nearly thirty hours after he had been brought in, that Jim finally showed some response.

 

Sherlock was sitting next to his bed, holding his hand, when he suddenly felt Jim’s fingers squeeze it back. It was a feeble squeeze but nonetheless a sign of life, the first one of its kind since the madman had tragically shot himself.

 

“Jim, Jimmy…..doc, nurse, he is awake, he’s….look he is opening his eyes….doctor!” Sherlock called out loudly and pressed the button next to the bed at the same time. The ruckus he created and the sounds of the bell being repeatedly pressed brought Dr. Havel and his team inside in record time and Sherlock was forced to stand aside as they quickly checked on the patient and tried to determine the situation. Sherlock quickly called Mycroft but the Iceman was downstairs, consulting with some physicians over the phone about Jim’s condition, so he took almost twenty minutes to arrive. By then, Sherlock had been sent out of the room and was sitting alone in the waiting lounge, sulking.

 

“I am sure he was awake, he was looking at me,” Sherlock complained, “But Dr. Havel won’t let me see him.”

 

A nurse came out and looked pleadingly at Mycroft. “The patient is out of danger and was indeed awake for a few minutes. But he is not coherent yet, he responded to words and to stimulation but couldn’t really speak to us. But Mr. Holmes here is being very unreasonable, he says he wants to talk to the patient right away. That’s not possible. That will take some more time. Please explain this to him and Dr. Havel has requested that he be asked to spend the night in a hotel or somewhere else and not in the ICU room. We will keep a nurse and an attendant in there all night, just in case, but both of you must go now.”

 

“No,” Sherlock said stubbornly.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied, “They will look after him. Come on now.”

 

“What….” Sherlock looked at the door, “What if he needs us tonight?”

 

“He won’t. He’s too tired to wake up multiple times. He will mostly be asleep and recovering. We will be back at eight in the morning. Come on now.”

 

“What if something happens to him tonight? Please tell me he’ll be here when we’re back in the morning.”

 

Once again Mycroft remembered the little boy he had doted so much on but never cared to admit it. He gently ruffled Sherlock’s hairs, like he used to do to little Lockie, and said, “Nothing will happen to your Jim. I will make things right from now on. I’ll once again be the Myc you can trust and rely on.”

 

***

 

Jim did wake up the next morning but was out again by the time the Holmes siblings had arrived. When he finally woke up, coherent and able to speak lucidly to the doctors, it was nearly late afternoon and the bright daylight had started to fade towards the soft mellow glow of twilight. Sherlock and Mycroft looked at each other awkwardly when the announcement came that the patient was awake and they could finally talk to him.

 

“You go Myc,” Sherlock said somberly.

 

“No Lockie,” Mycroft said without hesitation, “I think he’d like to see you first. I’ll see him a little later.” He instantly saw the unsure look in Sherlock’s eyes, the way the younger man’s legs shook and how openly doubtful his brother was about his intentions. “Yeah, I guess I deserve this judgment,” he admitted, grabbing Sherlock by the shoulders and turning him firmly in the direction of the ICU door, “Go and see him first, tell him never to do something stupid like this again and warn him of dire consequences on our behalf. We will do our family talk later.”

 

Sherlock didn’t pause thereafter. He literally ran into the room where Jim was and was pleasantly surprised to see the Irishman properly awake and smiling at him.

 

“Jimmy,” Sherlock rushed to the bed and sat down on the edge, putting his arms around his lover. The machines had not yet been disconnected but a few pipes and wires had been pulled out. That was a good sign and Sherlock was further heartened by the fact that the color seemed to have returned to Jim’s cheeks and the sparkle in his eyes was back too. “Don’t you ever do this again,” he chided him gently, “Enough of your mad suicidal tendencies. You’re not alone in this world anymore, you have me, Sebby, maybe you even have Mycroft. Please take some responsibility Jim, don’t be so selfish.”

 

“I am sorry,” Jim whispered in a scratchy tone, coughing to clear his throat, “It was silly.”

 

“Thank God you admit it.”

 

“Yeah, I do, I do. You…okay?”

 

“I am now. How’re you feeling?”

 

“Stoned. But I…want to live…..I don’t wanna die.”

 

“You will have to live for many years and decades,” Sherlock laughed and cried at the same time as he rested his head on Jim’s stomach, “You better promise you will. I don’t think I have had enough of you yet, I need you for fifty more years.”

 

“Fifty more years,” Jim repeated, his voice growing softer and drowsier. But he sounded happy so Sherlock wasn’t worried. “Sleepyhead,” he whispered as he kissed Jim on the brow, the cheek and finally on the mouth, “At least say a few words to Myc before you nod off. Believe it or not, but our common grief united us in the past two days. He once again seems to be the old Mycroft I knew.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yup. See for yourself.”

 

“Sherly, can you please send word to Tiger? I want to see him soon. If he can’t come here because of your brother then…..at least can he call me?”

 

“Sebastian will be here tomorrow.”

 

The smooth, polished, cultured voice was back and so was the ‘usual’ Mycroft. As he stepped into the room he was spick and span and dressed to the nines in a double-breasted suit, his hairs immaculately back-brushed, the subtle hint of an expensive Tom Ford cologne hanging in the air around him like some regal aura.

 

But what was totally unsettling about Mycroft was the cold as ice and completely unruffled look on his face. The picture-perfect Iceman, someone who could be far more dangerous than anyone would ever suspect, the man who could be ruthless enough to go to any lengths to get the job done. That Mycroft was someone even Jim wouldn’t really want to mess with and Sherlock, despite being family, feared repercussions from the ‘most powerful man of England’. The detective startled and grabbed Jim’s hand instinctively, his heart rate automatically going up by forty percent. Jim grabbed his hand back and stared straight at Mycroft, unwilling to back down even though he was at a position of disadvantage.

 

Mycroft raised a hand and said, “I will do the talking and both of you have the right to remain silent. Understood?”

 

None of them responded and Mycroft took that as an assent. He cleared his throat and spelled out the next words in a completely cool, unaffected and arrogance laced voice. “I am aware of your relationship and the extent to which Sherlock has fallen in your company James. You did this to take revenge on me and you succeeded. My brother is now a criminal too and that means I cannot arrest you without arresting him. I have a good mind to arrest both of you but my parents are old and can’t take this blow…..so…..”

 

“You had hurt me back then Mikey,” Jim began, “You claimed to love me and then treated me like an object, a caged bird, someone who was useful to you and nothing more.”

 

“And you escaped _like a caged_ _bird_ ,” Mycroft’s voice wavered just a bit before it steadied again, “Both times. First time by faking your death and second time by trying to die. I’ve decided that I have no use for one who acts like a caged bird, waiting for the first opportunity to fly away.”

 

“I did approach Sherlock so I could hurt you back,” Jim murmured, looking stubborn, “But I love him and I won’t…..”

“As I said,” Mycroft’s voice dripped with authority, “You have the right to remain silent.”

 

Jim paused. Sherlock stared at the floor, introspective and silent.

 

“I never loved you James,” Mycroft said, “I was trying to use your brilliant mind to get some benefits. But then that’s who I am. I used my siblings shamelessly, so my behavior is consistent. Look at how I treated Eurus, got your coordinates from her and sent her back to Sherrinford.”


	41. Imagine this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happiness ensues (and a threesome)
> 
> Epilogue in 3-4 days. Story isn't over yet!

“Eurus,” Sherlock spat out, “She tried to ruin my relationship with Jim. She put all sorts of rubbish in my head.”

 

“Her usual style,” Mycroft said in his annoyingly patronizing tone, “You got affected. That’s your problem Lockie.”

 

He looked at Jim steadily and continued, “Anyways, she won’t be a problem hereon. I have ensured that. As far as the two of you are concerned, I would like you to choose a country of residence and live out the rest of your lives there without causing any further commotion anywhere else in the world. No more crimes, no more felony, no more illegitimate stuff. If I get to hear something like that has happened, and believe me I will know the moment it happens, I will strike at your weakest point. Right now both of you have weaknesses, you are no longer invincible as before. Jim had Sebastian and Sherlock and Sherlock has…..”

 

“Sebastian and Jim,” Sherlock murmured, shoulders slumped.

 

At this Mycroft showed a brief moment of surprise, “Oh!”

 

Jim looked away from Mycroft and said, “I suppose there are more terms and conditions attached to this pact?”

 

“You will give away half your wealth James. That’s more than a billion and half. You will give me a list of all clients you recently worked for. I won’t do anything to them but I shall keep them as a tradeoff should a situation like that arise in future. Also, I am aware of the latest toy you built with help from my intelligent but brainless siblings. I want you to share those details with me so I can leverage the discovery if I need.”

 

“That’s my protective shield,” Jim argued.

 

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Mycroft replied, “I protected you once and even after you escaped, even after I got to know you’re alive, I never did anything to put you in trouble. I am here today because of my brother and sister, not you.”

 

“I don’t trust you,” Jim argued again.

 

“I am not taking it away completely. I am just asking you to share.”

“No. I don’t believe you.”

 

“I do,” Sherlock suddenly said, “Jimmy, do as he says. We don’t need protection beyond a point. If something happens we will sort it out together and as long as you have me he can’t hurt you. Let’s put an end to this and move on because I for one can’t take this uncertainty any longer.”

 

Jim was taken aback by his lover’s words but in his current state, weakened, raw and open, he didn’t have the energy or inclination to keep up this argument and disagreement. “All right then,” he said reluctantly, “If this means that much to you then I will accept Mikey’s terms and conditions, all of them.”

 

“The name is Mycroft,” Mycroft said sternly.

 

***

 

“Mycroft lied through his teeth,” Sherlock whispered as he and Jim lay in adjacent cots that night. Jim had been shifted to a normal room and an extra cot had been put there for Sherlock so he could sleep there at night. The doctors and nurses had done their best to convince the detective to go home or to a hotel at night but Sherlock had been so stubborn and headstrong about it that eventually they had to relent. They had eaten hospital food together because Jim was complaining it had no taste and Sherlock ate the first few bites just so he could counter Jim’s claim and call it ‘Not so bad’.

 

It was a domestic, intimate and loving bond between them and the two men, psychopath and sociopath by nature, found themselves strangely comforted by that bond. It was peaceful, the sort of peace one experiences after a storm has passed.

 

Therefore it came as a surprise to Jim when Sherlock made that claim and, for a moment, his brows knotted together, his fists clenched into the sheets and he turned his head towards his lover and snapped. “I know he is your brother and the filial chord can’t be snapped, but please don’t insult my intelligence by saying your brother is a changed man, an altruistic man who sacrificed the love of his life to give his sibling the joys he deserves. He even took details of my most dangerous and powerful invention, so he can use it against any government or individual he dislikes. He is the same selfish prick who treats people like objects.”

 

“Haven’t we both done the same?”

 

“Yeah, but neither of us are pretending to be saints.”

 

“I didn’t say he is a saint.”

 

“Then what is your point really?”

 

“That he might not be altruistic towards the world but he has learned to make a sacrifice for his family, even if that means killing his own dreams. He really does love you Jimmy. He had come here to look for me but his main goal was to get to you. But your suicide attempt changed it all. He walked away so we can be happy together, so none of us feel guilty, so we can make a fresh start without any strings of the past pulling us back.”

 

Jim winced a bit as he turned slightly to his side, “You’re joking, right? Mycroft?”

 

“Yeah,” Sherlock smiled wistfully as he stretched out an arm and grabbed Jim’s hand, “Even I was taken aback because I had expected him to separate us and arm-twist you into accompanying him back to England. The money he asked you to surrender, the device whose details you had to share, those are an eyewash for the British government. He will use those to show his mission was a success even though he couldn’t get Sherlock Holmes back to England. Jim Moriarty stays dead until and unless he commits curiously similar crimes under an alias and rouses the suspicion of intelligence agencies and rivals.”

 

Jim was quiet for a long time. Sherlock waited for ten minutes before he slowly got up and walked over to Jim’s bed, kneeling down next to it. Machines had been disconnected by then and so had the bag of blood. Only an IV was strapped to one of Jim’s arms and a heart monitor was attached to his other arm and toe. It beeped steadily and peacefully, practically noiseless. “Tell me Jimmy,” Sherlock whispered, caressing Jim’s right hand, “Do you trust me when I say I have seen through my brother? I saw through him earlier and saw a demon, now I see not an angel but a demon who’s trying to become human. It doesn’t seem strange anymore, not to me at least.”

 

“To me it does,” Jim murmured quietly.

 

“What does?”

 

“I miss him.”

 

“Ji….JIM?”

 

“Not like that. I just wish I had been nicer to him.”

 

Sherlock leaned closer and pecked him on the cheek. Moments later Jim let out a chuckle and said, “Whatthefuck am I talking about? I have never been a nice man.”

 

***

 

“We will be gentle,” Sherlock said pleadingly, “See, even Jim is ready.”

 

“NO,” Sebastian said sternly as he got into bed, right between the two geniuses, “I said NO.”

 

Jim whined and Sherlock pouted. It was so difficult to go without sex for so long, especially since they were all highly sexual creatures with extremely high libidos. Three weeks into Jim’s ‘accident and two weeks since his release from the hospital, all they had done were hand-jobs. Sebastian had forbidden even blowjobs since they ‘tended to over enthuse people and lead straight on to a full-fledged coitus’. At first Sherlock listened while Jim complained but by now even the detective couldn’t handle the ‘one month rule’.

 

“There are different poses and angles we can try,” Jim ranted angrily, “My wound has healed nicely and there is really no pain anywhere in my body. I feel better and more energetic than I have felt in years. In fact, if I don’t have sex for one more day and burst a nut as a result you two will be responsible for my re-hospitalization.”

 

“What do you mean we are both responsible?” Sherlock shot back, trying to defend himself, “I have been ready for a week now. I had no idea Sebastian was so cock-sure about the one month rule. I thought that was merely a suggestion, a ball park, not something carved in stone. Look at me, I am hard for half the day and jerk off ten times during the other half. My dick is getting rusty. I am not the reason we are celibate!”

 

“Oh God the twin drama queens,” Sebastian did a facepalm and looked crossly at both of them, “What is with you spindly geniuses with oversized brains huh? Skin on bones, low appetite, high sex-drive, one track mind, weird mood swings and the ability to throw tantrums that can put a two-year-old to shame? I am not enjoying myself particularly either. I placed myself in the middle so you don’t start your coitus process every night. But is it easy to sleep between two hot men who keep grinding themselves on my sides all night, moaning and begging for sex? You think I have slept well for a single night? But someone needs to be sensible here and not go with _‘I wanna have sex now and I don’t care what happens after I explode’_ theory.”

 

“What is your fear really?” Jim asked.

 

“That you’d get hurt. That we might, in the throes of ecstasy, do something to reopen the wound or hurt you elsewhere.”

 

“Okay, fair enough. But let’s at least try something more than a hand job tonight.”

 

“I am not sure…..”

 

“No,” Sherlock caught on, “He doesn’t want a fellatio. He means we should give you one.”

 

Sebastian looked so shocked that Sherlock had to hold back the chuckle that bubbled up in his system. But seeing Jim’s deadpan face he made up his mind to remain just as unaffected and neutral, so the former sniper had not even the slightest inkling he was being played.

 

“You really mean it?” Sebastian murmured.

 

“Uh-huh,” Jim nodded so hard he looked like a bobble head doll, “Uh-huh!”

 

“You get us both,” Sherlock added, “Two mouths for the price of one orgasm.”

 

Sebastian was so aroused he was rock hard in seconds. His cock escaped the soft elastic waistband of his boxers and the faint musk from his groin rose in the air. Jim mouthed him over the flimsy cotton of the underwear, tracing the prominent outline of Seb’s huge cock with his lips. Sherlock simply stared at first, licking his lips and wishing he was at the receiving end, before he proceeded to help Jim take off the blond man’s boxers. Once Sebastian was naked and writhing in pleasure, Sherlock wasted no time in fingering him open with lube while kissing around the muscular thighs and heavy balls.

 

“Damn you two,” Sebastian cried out with pleasure, hips rocking to the cadence of Sherlock’s fingers moving inside him, “Let me cum, now!”

 

“Not unless you promise to let me have the second round according to my rules,” Jim said with glowing eyes, wicked evil smile forming on his saliva coated lips. Sherlock let out a throaty chuckle to that and waggled his brows at the hapless man who was struggling between the sensations of fingers up his arse and a hot mouth on his cock. Sebastian rolled his eyes, realizing he had set both foot into a ‘cocky’ trap laid out by the crazy geniuses. “I should have known better than to trust you two with anything,” he huffed out, the last word almost ending in a moan, “But you’re not getting your way. No way am I going to…..ufffffucckkkk!!!”

 

Sherlock leaned down and started mouthing Sebastian’s cock along with Jim. They kissed around the impressive saliva slick erection before proceeding to lick it up and down like a popsicle. The rock-hard dick began to throb but instantly both mouths were withdrawn.

 

“NOOOOO,” Sebastian pushed his hips up into nothing but air, “You bastards.”

 

“You knoooow us,” Jim sang.

 

“I am with hiiiim,” Sherlock mimicked a similar tone.

 

“Fuck you both,” Sebastian shouted.

 

“When?” Jim snickered.

 

“Where? Here? Right?” Sherlock joined in into the merciless teasing of the intensely aroused man who was having trouble staying coherent or still.

 

“Okay-okay-okay,” Sebastian finally gave in, “Make me cum and I’ll let you both have your way in bed. Just not something too experimental and Jim can’t be underneath any of us, all right?”

 

“Sounds doable,” Sherlock laughed and slapped Jim’s pert butt, earning a yelp from the surprised criminal, “Jimmy let’s give the colonel an orgasm that makes him pass out?”

 

Jim nodded with delight and together they attacked the pretty cock with renewed gusto. While Sherlock’s fingers kept tickling Seb’s prostate, his mouth sucked the tip of Seb’s cock. Jim continued to lick at the base of the cock and up the shaft while he cupped the heavy balls and squeezed them just the way the sniper loved it.

 

It hardly took three minutes.

 

Sebastian exploded in an orgasm so powerful that he acted like an animal in heat, arms and legs flapping and flailing, pillows tossed out of bed, things on the nightstand crashing on the floor and his two lovers almost kicked as side as he came and came and came.

 

Sherlock pulled his mouth off at the last moment so Sebastian came all over his face. It was copious enough to coat his entire chin and part of his cheeks and nose and, upon seeing that, Jim began to lick him clean, presenting a sight hot enough for the colonel to remain almost as hard as he had been before his climax. He stared hungrily at the two men before he pulled the detective closer to clean the rest of his face. He then drew Jim on to his lap so he could kiss the man and taste himself in that sweet mouth, smacking his lips as he did so. Jim giggled and put his arms around his former lieutenant.

 

“What?” Sebastian asked, blushing.

 

“You’re so easy to play,” Jim snuffled and snickered.

 

“That’s because I love you,” Sebastian confessed, “And believe it or not, I have started to fall for your lanky English bastard as well.”

 

“Oh, I am obliged,” Sherlock gently pushed Jim off Seb’s lap and straddled his thighs, “You better not forget I will be around from now on, forever.”

 

“Hello,” Jim grumbled, “I have an urge too.”

 

Sebastian smiled, “All right, since I am a gentleman in bed I will keep my promise. Tell me kitten,” he frowned at Sherlock who mockingly meowed, “What do you want?”

 

“That,” Jim’s eyes sparkled with arousal.

 

***

 

Sebastian lay on his back with Jim crouched over him. His cock was lodged deep inside Jim’s tight channel and pressed against his cock was Sherlock’s erection, moving slowly against it.

 

Double penetration was Jim’s favorite kink and this was the best way to do it without accidentally injuring or hurting the former criminal mastermind.

 

Sebastian lay flat on the mattress and didn’t move at all. He simply held Jim up above him so the brunette didn’t have to put any weight on his arms. Sherlock was on his knees between Sebastian’s open legs, his cock parked inside Jim’s impossibly tight heat and sharing space with Seb’s nine and half inch manhood. As long as he moved, it worked for all three of them and they could easily reach orgasm that way, Sebastian from the slippery rubbing of Sherlock’s cock and Jim from the friction and fullness he was experiencing.

 

“MOVE,” came the twin command from the two former criminals.

 

Sherlock experienced a surreal moment as he slid in deeper. His mind went back to those days when such an order would most likely be given with a gun pressed to his temple. Well, even now he had a gun pressed against him, but not at his temple. With a wicked and happy grin he started to thrust and almost immediately he was rewarded with loud moans from Jim and a string or curses from Sebastian. Grabbing Jim’s hips he pushed in as deep as he could, mindful of the fact that Jim was already stretched to the maximum by Sebastian’s ‘gun’, slowly setting a steady rhythm that would take them right to the peak of ecstasy. He felt the contractions of Jim’s channel and the throb in Sebastian’s cock and his rhythm faltered slightly, cock leaking.

 

_I am not cumming before they do, not this time!_

 

Jim was drooling and moaning, his body swaying like jelly above Sebastian’s prostrate form. His arse was snug as a virgin’s passage, warm as a coat and velvety as a glove. Sebastian and Sherlock struggled to stay coherent as they made love to the Irishman, Sherlock thrusting uncontrollably and Sebastian rocking gently, while Jim screamed himself hoarse as he rode the pinnacle of pain and pleasure. Sherlock wondered for a moment how Jim even enjoyed this.

 

_But then, had the mastermind not enjoyed this kinky position and mode, neither Sherlock nor Sebastian would have known the amazing sensations of double penetration. It was so awesome to be inside your lover and feel the slippery rubbing of another stick beside your own stick._

 

“Fuck I’ll cum like this,” Sebastian suddenly groaned out, thrusting up as much as he could, “Oh fuck Jim-Jim…..oh yeah, I’m gonna…..”

 

He didn’t finish speaking but the sudden jettison of warmth inside Jim told Sherlock the tale. The next moment Jim spasmed madly and came, shooting ribbons and ribbons of cum all over Sebastian. He slumped forward and Sebastian, still reeling from the aftershocks, barely managed to grab him on time. Fortunately Jim didn’t land on his bad side, he simply managed to sink down on the much larger frame of his lover.

 

Sherlock came like a potent force that was out of control. His body shook with spasmodic seizures as he erupted with a litany of curses and shuddering pants. His strength drained from him at an alarming rate and he feared he’d pass out before he’d even finished cumming.

 

By the time he had recovered somewhat, he heard Sebastian’s deep baritone say, “He’s passed out and not because of anything worrisome. We just gave him a huge one!”

 

“Imagine this Seb,” Sherlock chuckled, realizing with a start that his happiness was no longer limited to just a year, “This is how most nights will be from now on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for all those who were not pleased with Jim's character choosing Mycroft over Sherlock in Terzetto. REVENGE :)


	42. Epilogue 1 - John's visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year later John visits NYC to find out how Sherlock is faring in his 'new life'

 

_1 year later_

 

The moment John emerged from the arrival gates he spotted the unmistakable figure in the distance. He waved back at the man who was waving at him. Tall and towering over the rest, his mop of blond hairs shining in the sunlight and his smile easy and infectious, Sebastian stood out like a titan next to ordinary mortals.

 

“Hey there,” John shook Sebastian’s hand and was pulled into a one arm hug by his former military colleague, “So nice to see you man. How have you been?”

 

“We divide our time between New York City, Paris, Singapore and Dubai,” Sebastian said as they moved towards the parking lot, “Can’t say it’s a bad deal. Singapore especially is the nicest place to live in, culturally a salad bowl and commercially a hot pot. But here in New York City, I guess is where we feel the most at home. Reminds us a bit about London and we generally love the hustle and bustle of the city. Nice time to visit us John, the weather here is warm for a grand total of two months a year and we have just about begun to experience summer since last week.”

 

“Wow,” John stopped, “Is that your car?”

 

“Hummer,” Sebastian said proudly, “I customized it myself.”

 

“Isn’t that the work you do nowadays? Weapons consultant and customization expert for any kind of vehicle?”

 

“Oh yeah. I have always loved toys of different kinds, be it guns or cars or boats. I have now got a chance to live my passion and earn money out of it. I already have a string of high-profile clients and steady business and profits come from them. My workshop is in all four cities.”

 

“What about Jim and Sherlock? Are they just as happy with their new line of work?”

 

“Jim is minting money as a financial consultant, art historian and author of books on astrophysics and mathematics. But as usual he gets bored in a while and fights with Sherlock or nags me. Sherlock is a special counsel for several pharmaceutical and oil companies, owing to his brilliance in the world of chemistry. He travels a lot and cribs when he travels, saying he wants to be home. When he is with us he cribs he’s bored and complains that we don’t travel with him.”

 

John smiled broadly, “In other words the usual family drama, you are damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”

 

“Speaking of that,” Sebastian started the car, “How has your new life shaped up?”

 

“Anita is happy, which means I must be doing something right,” John said, color rising to his cheeks, “I am happy too.”

 

“How did this even happen?” Sebastian asked with a twinkle in his eyes before he perched oversized sunglasses on his nose.

 

“Long story short,” John began to explain, “We just clicked. At one point she was trying to help me but I doubted her, at one point she had tricked me to make her boss happy, we had our fights and misunderstandings but eventually what worked for us was our common interests. We are both addicted to thrills and chills and yet we do wish to have a home that is unaffected by it all. She is an intelligent and kind woman, within reason of course, and I enjoy talking to her. In return, she seems to be proud of being a surgeon’s wife and supports me and my career one hundred percent.”

 

“Good to hear. By the way, is it true Mycroft finally said yes to Lestrade?”

 

“He did. Good for Lestrade. Unrequited love is a wretched thing.”

 

“Tell me about it. Thanks to Sherlock I no longer feel those pains.”

 

“Do you live with them all year?”

 

“Nope, only off and on. In fact all three of us have our own private time, be it at one of our homes or our business trips. It’s not like an ‘attached to the hip and glued to the ribs’ kind of relationship. That would be stifling.”

 

John lapsed into thoughtful silence as he wondered how Sherlock had managed to put up with not one but two men, both criminals, both of whom were in a relationship earlier, both of whom had once tried to finish him off. Though his friend’s letters and mails, conversations and texts had convinced him that the detective was quite happy, John wasn’t sure of it entirely and wanted to see him with his own eyes.

 

That’s why he was here, despite Mycroft warning him to stay away from the ‘three idiots’.

 

“Hey, what happened?” Sebastian asked.

 

“No, nothing really,” John replied, “Is that where you guys live?”

 

“Uh-huh! You’ll love the gorgeous view it offers, especially at night.”

 

John had already understood how beauteous it could be. The tall tower in which the three men owned a duplex penthouse apartment was placed at the heart of Manhattan with view of the bay on one side and the iconic Empire State Building and Chrysler Building on the other side.

 

***

 

John could hardly believe his eyes. He had heard that people change as their circumstances do but never had he imagined that the stubborn sociopath Sherlock or the infamous James Moriarty could be changed by any situation or circumstance.

 

Yet here they were, Jim vacuuming the living room and Sherlock cooking lunch, while Sebastian was out shopping for groceries. John felt out of place as he sat at the kitchen table, doing nothing but observe as his former flatmate expertly chopped garlic and added it to the sizzling ingredients in the pan.

 

The six-bedroom penthouse was gorgeous and tastefully furnished. The walls were painted in pale, pastel hues. The décor was elegant but minimalistic, the views panoramic and gorgeous, each and every furniture and artifact lovingly handpicked. It was a home and every nook and corner of it showed the bond the three men shared. John spotted an expensive Stradivarius violin which was Sherlock’s birthday gift earlier that year. There were framed ancient maps in the home office which were Sebastian’s choices. For Jim the ceiling of the master bedroom had been painted by an artist to show one of his favorite constellations, complete with built-in soft glow lights.

 

“Um…..can I help?” John asked.

 

“Nope, this is going well,” Sherlock turned and smiled.

 

“You can cook?”

 

“Yeah. Not many dishes though but on Tuesdays and Thursdays I cook.”

 

“What are we eating for lunch?”

 

“Egg noodles with bell peppers and carrots, sides of mushrooms sautéed in garlic with scallions and sweet and sour shrimps.”

 

“Sherlock?”

 

“Hmmmm, Jawn?”

 

“Are you happy?”

 

Sherlock turned the flame to low and looked at John. “Well, it is a compromise. I still work on cases but I don’t get as many as I used to earlier. People speak of my name and I can’t tell them it’s me, the same man they consider a legend, and sometimes that is a minor irritant. I miss you and London, I miss 221B and meeting mummy and daddy over Sunday lunches. But I have learned to weigh the pros and cons and the pros are much on the higher side. I have Jimmy, I have Seb, I have my new line of work now. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Also, it’s a matter of habit and I am slowly getting used to this life. Yeah, I am good.”

 

Whatever John wanted to say was interrupted by Jim bursting into the kitchen with a hoarse shout of ‘My ring has gone into the dust bag….atchoooo…..I cant……chooo…..take it out.”

 

“How do you manage to get into such accidents?” Sherlock snorted and went to the living room to get the ring out. Jim flopped down on a chair next to John and started drinking the tea Sherlock had kept for himself. John looked at him with amusement in his eyes, trying to picture the dangerous and somewhat out of kilter Jim Moriarty sitting next to him and drinking tea like a bratty little boy who liked stealing cookies. Jim looked much better than he used to, John noted, with no bags or dark circles under his eyes and his hair and skin glowing with vitality. He did look rather attractive and more importantly, relaxed and at peace.

 

“Sherlock has been good for you,” John let the words slip out.

 

Jim’s eyes glowed, showing his ‘Moriarty’ for a moment. Then he threw his head back and laughed, “Yeah you could say that.”

 

“So, all settled down in your new life?”

 

“Yeah-yeah, so far so good! Mikey took away most of my money but I am still a millionaire several times over and have several expensive properties. I have Sherlock, I have Sebby. It could have been far worse.”

 

“I wanted to ask….”

 

“Go on,” Jim put down the drained and empty cup and put his elbows on the table, “Shoot.”

 

“Is it true you were Mycroft’s….”

 

“Yes,” Jim spoke with an arrow straight glare at John which chilled the latter’s spine end to end, “Yes we had an affair and I was attracted to him. You see doc, I lost my dad when I was very young. My elder brother was much older than me and more or less became my father and guardian after that, but when he was killed it was like losing my father all over again. In Mikey I saw an older man, a sort of a father figure, I was looking for the daddy I missed sometimes. Then I realized, we are totally incompatible.”

 

“Is Sherlock a replacement?”

 

“An alternative. An alternative that’s working at the moment. Come on, I want to show you something.”

 

When John hesitated, Jim laughed out loud and startled him. “Sherloooock, oh Sherlyyyy, your pet doesn’t trust me enough to go to the studio with meeeee!”

 

“Don’t be silly Jawn,” Sherlock called out, “Go to the studio with him!”

 

Jim got up and gestured for John to follow him. A surprised, peeved and somewhat miffed John followed Jim to the upper level where two bedrooms had been converted for more appropriate usage. One had been turned into a lab for Sherlock and the other was set up to act as a studio for Jim. When John entered the studio he gasped with amazement, his eyes wide. “You are a very good painter, a really adept portrait artist,” he complimented the visibly chaffed Jim, “These are awesome! This can’t be a mere hobby, you must have done this professionally at some point in time. Haven’t you?”

 

“Um no,” Jim said, “I didn’t learn formally nor did I paint professionally.”

 

John walked past the scores of canvases, some framed and resting against the walls, some still mounted on tripod stands even though they were completed works, some half-finished, some awaiting finishing touches. They were exquisite, life-like and one little girl’s face was so beautifully done that John felt like reaching out and wiping off the tears on her chubby cheeks.

 

Then he saw a nude self-portrait and quickly turned his face away from it. It was erotic, too erotic! He heard Jim snicker and whisper ‘Gift for my tiger’s upcoming birthday’.

 

There were three portraits of Sherlock. One was a side view of his typical detective pose, seated on a chair and fingers steepled under his chin, eyes on the floor in deep concentration. Even the finer details had been captured beautifully, like the small birthmark behind Sherlock’s ear.

 

Jim suddenly called him out to the other side of the room and when John stepped over, he saw a painting of Mycroft. It took him by surprise because it wasn’t the ‘Mycroft’ he saw or knew. Instead of a suit Mycroft was in a pair of chinos with a red Lacoste T shirt on top, sunlight on his face and a huge smile adorning it. He was barbequing with a chef’s hat on and in the backdrop was a house that looked suspiciously familiar.

 

John remembered which house it was. One of the countryside properties Mycroft owned.

 

“Can you take this with you and give it to him?” Jim asked.

 

“Yes I can,” John said, “I don’t see any reason why I can’t do this. Is he expecting it?”

 

“He was. At least a few years earlier he was. Not sure about now. Give it to him anyways.”

 

“Okay, I will. Um….that portrait of Sherlock, sitting on the chair. I was wondering if I could buy it from you Jim.”

 

Jim didn’t reply. John quickly added, “You have two more of his portraits and those are far more intimate and private poses. One where he is in the pool, another where he is sitting on top of a SUV with the Grand Canyon in the background. I suppose those are from later times, which I can’t really identify with. But the one where he has his ‘thinking pose’, if you sell it to me it might help me preserve some memories of the past.”

 

Jim didn’t reply. He simply turned and walked out of the door.

 

***

 

John was woken up the next night due to some strange sounds. When he listened closely he identified them as sounds of distress and pain coming from another room. Alert in an instant, he grabbed a heavy vase and tiptoed out of the guest room, ready to attack the intruder. His risk-taking, danger-loving side had been dormant but not extinct. To defend Sherlock was his absolute duty and in case his friend was in trouble he would go to any lengths to save him. He made a beeline for the master bedroom upstairs but when he peered in, all he saw was Sebastian fast asleep in the middle of the huge king-size bed.

 

Then he realized the sounds were coming from Sherlock’s lab. Cautiously he approached it, eyes fixed on the ajar door. He aligned his eyes to the slight gap and looked, holding the vase high above so he could deal the knockout blow whenever needed.

 

What he saw distressed him in other ways than he had anticipated. His cock went rock-hard in his sleep pants and he had to remind himself that ‘he was NOT gay’. Sherlock was lying on the edge of the table with his long legs raised above his head and Jim, standing on a foot stool to reach the correct height, was fucking him like a bull as he stood between those open legs. Both men were half naked, Sherlock’s shirt pushed up and his pants down to his knees, while Jim had his T shirt off and his pants around his ankles. Both men were groaning and moaning from the sensations, especially Sherlock who was beside himself with arousal.

 

John had never run away from anywhere like he ran from that lab door. He didn’t care if someone heard his thudding footsteps or his quickened breathing. Somehow he managed to reach his room, lock the door and fall on the bed.

 

Then he jerked off desperately.

 

Later, with his semen cooling on his belly and his member still throbbing from remembered ecstasy, he felt foolish and confused. How did the sight of two gay men making love stoke his arousal to this point???

 

The next day, sometime around noon, a sleepy Jim finally emerged from the bedroom. Sherlock had been awake for two hours but was lethargic and loopy.

 

“Think I will cook lunch today,” John offered.

 

“Yeah,” Sherlock yawned, putting his head down next to the third cup of coffee he had been drinking since waking up, “Might be the best idea. I want a quinoa salad.”

 

“A sandwich for me John,” Jim stretched his arms over his head, “Oh by the way, why were you watching Sherlock and me last night?”

 

***

 

As the days passed, John found himself wondering as to why he had ever worried about Sherlock’s new life. He understood in every aspect that Sherlock was a spitting image of Jim when it came to their inner workings and thoughts. Always aligned, always on the same page, they were like two peas in a pod. Yet there were subtle differences between them and while Jim was more of the brain and the cunning, Sherlock was more of the common sense and heart. What made their relationship even stronger was how they managed to keep each other honest even at the most difficult moments of argument and disagreement.

 

Sebastian fitted into the overall picture like a perfectly shaped piece of the puzzle. Happy to play second fiddle, happy to be the caregiver, happy to be the lightning rod for the two geniuses, he was the ubiquitous third arm that always came in to play when two weren’t enough or one was injured. A perfect foil and support, he was equally adored and obeyed by the two sociopaths.

 

Not that there weren’t any problems. Sherlock was jealous and sometimes unnecessarily so. John witnessed funny moments at the dinner table when Jim would mention Irene or some other former lover and Sherlock would push his plate away and walk off, nose in the air. Sebastian would coolly take the food from Sherlock’s plate and eat it with relish while Jim could curse and rant and call Sherlock all sorts of names. Not devoid of his own issues, Jim had bouts of hysteria or silence where he was not easily comforted. But somehow Sherlock always broke through his defenses and rectified the situation, even if that took time.

 

They took John shopping and clubbing and sightseeing and by the time a month had passed, the doctor felt like he had visited some friends, not a high-functioning sociopath, a former mastermind and a former sniper. They were just three men who shared a life and home. “I wouldn’t have it any other way John,” Sebastian announced one day as they sat on the terrace, drinking beer.

 

“I can see why,” John replied, “You guys are doing well, it’s like a normal family.”

 

“Now that you are convinced, is it possible that Sherlock’s mum and dad can come and visit?”

 

“Nah. Better if Sherlock visits them, maybe somewhere outside England.”

 

“Yeah. I think he misses them a lot but being Sherlock, he would never admit it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue became a bit longish so it has two parts, one more to go.


	43. Closure for all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the tale ends, where everyone finds home and a purpose for tomorrow

_1 day before John’s scheduled date of return to London_

 

John was packing his bags when Sherlock bounced into the room, looking rather happy. But a closer look in his eyes gave John a different flavor and he asked with a grin, “Are you bored Sherlock?”

 

“Bored as a bat trapped in a hole,” Sherlock answered, “That too a hole smaller and tighter than….”

 

“Hey, I don’t want to know,” John held up a hand and winced, “No oversharing please! By the way, good that you are here because I wanted to thank you for inviting me and for spending some ‘John & Sherlock’ time, like good old times. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting your partners to be so accommodating and leave us alone on all those days when we went out in town or drove up to Washington. Felt like nothing had changed aside from the name of the city. We even picked up three impromptu cases and you solved them in a jiffy. It was thrilling, honest to God I have missed that thrill a lot.”

 

“Me too,” Sherlock said and quickly changed the topic, “You might wanna thank Seb and Jim too. They have done more than just allow me my time with you.”

“Of course,” John said, “I gave the colonel a small thank-you gift. It’s a Belgian crystal, handmade figurine, about a foot tall. It’s a tiger in gym clothes, doing bench presses. I think he appreciated it very much. I do plan to gift him some books too, he has given me a few names and I am sure I’ll find them at Sotheby’s. As for Jim, I would thank him profusely for not skinning me or turning me into shoes or dressing me up in semtex.”

 

Sherlock chuckled, “He doesn’t do crazy stuff like that anymore.”

 

“Really?”

 

“I guarantee.”

 

“Okay. But what do I gift him? He has everything….or rather….I don’t know him well enough to know what he doesn’t have.”

 

“How about you give him the gift you stole from Mycroft?”

 

John’s eyes went wide and he dropped the shaving kit from his hands. “How did you know….Sh-Sherlock?” He stammered.

 

“Deductive reasoning,” Sherlock seemed rather proud that he hadn’t rusted, “I remember telling you that Jim adores the mini-model of ‘Moriarty and the Crown Jewels’ storyboard which Mycroft had created in collaboration with Funskool toys. Lego, enamel, vinyl and plush chibi figures and settings on a large board representing parts of London where the crime scene and the trial happened. It shows Jim entering the Tower of London, stealing the crown and the scepter, then getting escorted to the police car by Lestrade and ends with him walking out of prison grinning and saying ‘Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain’.”

 

John nodded, “Yeah, yeah, but how did you know I stole it?”

 

“You showed me a pic of Mycroft and in the background is a table with a large square piece suspiciously empty. It befits the size and shape of this creation and had Mycroft planned to take this off, knowing him, he would have replaced it with something else. Like maybe a chibi Myc entering Buckingham palace and getting knighted by the Queen or the forever waiting-in-line-for-the-throne Prince of Wales. When I saw the packet in which you brought the item, it’s a rather hastily put together cardboard box with cotton wool stuffed here and there for cushioning effect. That couldn’t be the package in which it arrived from Funskool. I also know you employed Gaston, one of my homeless network members to steal it and your girlfriend Anthea helped, as I spotted two sets of fingerprints which were similar to the ones I have on my records……”

 

“Got it, got it,” John grinned, “I will gift it to Jim. Do you think he will like it?”

 

“He’ll love it. He misses those days too.”

 

“I know, I am sure he does.”

 

“Do you think he misses Mycroft?”

 

“Sherlock no, don’t go there. Since when did you become such a jealous little girl?”

 

Sherlock blushed, “I am not. Okay maybe a little. I just don’t know if he is….”

 

“Jealousy is pretty much like anger. You drink slow poison and expect someone else to die or go away. It just kills you in the long run.”

 

Sherlock sighed, “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

 

John smiled, “As long as you have no regrets, don’t even bother with such trivialities.”

 

“I do not have any regrets really, I don’t,” Sherlock stretched his long legs on the bed and thrust up his pelvis slightly, exposing some flat white belly as his shirt hitched up and his track pants lay low, “But I can’t deny that sometimes I wonder how my life would have been had I said no to Jim and refused to go along with him two years ago. But then, some things are best left the way they are.”

 

“So right,” John replied.

 

“Oh I almost forgot,” Sherlock pointed at the portrait of Mycroft’s which Jim had carefully packed for the journey, “There is one more painting right behind that. You might wanna check it out.”

 

“Oh, what might it be?” John exclaimed and quickly went to check. He gingerly put Mycroft’s portrait-gift aside and picked up the second canvas, now framed beautifully and wrapped in sturdy cellophane to protect it during the trip. John’s jaw dropped when he saw Sherlock’s portrait, the very one he had liked so much when he had visited Jim’s studio. His eyes lit up and his heart leapt in his chest as he held the heavy painting in his hands, already visualizing it hanging on a wall behind Sherlock’s chair which he had kept in exactly the same spot where it used to be. 221B had become a Sherlock museum by now and nothing would enhance its beauty more than this lovely painting.

 

Suddenly he noticed a small handwritten tag hanging from the corner. Curiously, he read the words.

 

‘Not for sale’.

 

“Jim,” John looked at Sherlock, “Has panache.”

 

“Of course,” Sherlock said proudly, “Ask me about it.”

 

“Is it true he has a tattoo on his butt which Mycroft had designed and one at the base of his um, his, um….dick, with your initials?”

 

“The butt tattoo I made him laser off. The cock tattoo is a good idea and I…..”

 

“Okay, okay,” John held up a hand and winced again, cheeks coloring, “I do not really want to know. Please Sherlock, don’t overshare with me please!”

 

“Who asked?”

 

“I did. I am sorry.”

 

John was suddenly enveloped in an awkward hug from his friend and former flat-mate and colleague. The good doctor returned the hug with love and enthusiasm, ending it with a gentle ruffle to the dark brown curls on the taller man’s head. “Some things have not changed,” he confessed, “Like how you’re still uneasy with any physical display of affection, no matter who is offering it. How do you even let Sebastian and Jim touch you?”

 

Sherlock waggled his brows, “I could have told you but you have asked me twice not to overshare!”

 

***

 

“I told you John, I am NOT interested in knowing anything about your trip to New York City,” Mycroft said in an exasperated voice and walked off, nose in the air, as if John and Lestrade didn’t even exist or were too insignificant to share oxygen with him.

 

Instead of getting offended, the two men laughed the moment Mycroft was out of the room. “Does he really think we buy his supposed ‘indifference’,” Greg Lestrade snorted, “Seriously, he feels he can pull it off and we’d think he’s one heartless and mean cold bastard. I mean he can be that, but surely not towards his brother and……that fellow.”

 

“I see that you don’t want to utter his name,” John mused, eyes on Lestrade’s face, “I can understand your position though! Mycroft won’t move on completely from that relationship and you have reasons to resent things. But look at it from Myc’s point of view. It’s very hard to forget one’s first love and for Mycroft it came so late in life that he had more or less devoted all his dreams to it, thinking that would be his last. But then, he destroyed it with his own hands. I think whenever he remembers Jim, he is inundated with a sense of loss, coated over by a feeling of guilt.”

 

“Yeah,” Lestrade said, “He has a shrine to him. He thinks I don’t know but I do.”

 

“Ignore it.”

 

“I try to.”

 

“Let’s talk about something else then,” John changed topics, “I saw Sherlock cooking, Jim cleaning, Sebastian grocery shopping, like ordinary mortals. Jim actually took me shopping to one of his favorite stores in lower Manhattan, Seb took me to a really nice pub and Sherlock drove me to Washington to see the Lincoln memorial and other touristy spots. I shared pics with Mycroft, you, Molly, Mrs. Hudson and Anthe….Anita. Everyone responded, except for your grumpy partner of course.”

 

“They looked nice, you looked happy,” Lestrade said, “Which is all that matters, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Five weeks huh? That was one long holiday.”

 

“Yet when I was leaving, it didn’t seem long enough. I guess I really enjoyed my time there. Anyways, this painting is for Mycroft. A gift from Jim. Sherlock isn’t big on gifts so he sent something homemade. He has learned to bake chocolate chip cookies and coconut macaroons. He baked two batches for Mycroft and sent it, here, I brought them in an airtight Tupperware jar. Please give it to Myc whenever he decides to stop sulking.”

 

“You know what John,” Lestrade looked at the doorway, “I have an idea. How about we have a cup of tea first?”

 

“I’d love that,” John stood up.

 

***

 

Mycroft had been listening in to the conversation all the while, hiding behind the door. The only reason he had left the room was because he was afraid his carefully crafted mask might slip in front of his partner and friend, something he could ill-afford. The moment he heard them leave the room, he slid back inside and went straight to the gifts from New York. The painting brought back fond memories of the past and he caressed it all over, thinking about how those spots would have been touched by Jim merely two days ago. He tried to smell it and somehow sensed a whiff of the ocean-fresh, ice-mint cologne Jim was partial too.

 

Was that his imagination? He didn’t care.

 

Next he opened the two Tupperware boxes and sniffed at the contents. Chocolate chip cookies, fresh and plump and solid. Coconut macaroons, crispy and delightfully browned, also freshly baked. His mouth watered and so did his eyes as he allowed himself a rare moment of indulgence – being himself. He could see Sherlock working on the cookies, putting the sheet into the oven, humming a tune to himself as he did so. He could see Jim lovingly choosing the frame for his portrait because the elegant frame was just the sort that Mycroft would like his painting to be encased in.

 

They didn’t hate him. He had failed to convince them that he was a cheap, opportunistic bastard. But he wasn’t sure if this failure even bothered him because being remembered by his brother and his former lover was quite…..heartening and uplifting.

 

He grabbed cookies with both hands and stuffed them into his mouth, trying to chew and savor and swallow at the same time. He wanted to finish this and run out of here before the others returned. None of them were allowed to see him like this.

 

He swallowed but some bits of the food stuck to his throat, making him cough with a full mouth. He cleared his throat and swallowed again but this time his diaphragm played truant and he began to hiccup from the overall effect of the food.

 

Still he kept chewing and biting into more cookies, tears glistening in his eyes, hiccups shaking his large frame. Suddenly a glass of water was held before him and he cringed.

 

“Have some water darling.”

 

“Relax Myc, these are all yours.”

 

Mycroft nearly choked on the cookies and stared at the two men in astonishment, his cheeks flaming and his eyes wide. Lestrade and John were about to laugh and take this whole matter with a pinch of salt when they noticed tears glistening at the corner of Mycroft’s eyes. Instantly they sobered up and Lestrade, concerned for his adored partner, held the glass for the elder Holmes as the man sipped some water to help him wash down the mouthful.

 

“Better now?” John asked, “Here, sit down.”

 

Mycroft sat down on a chair and stared silently at the containers of cookies and the painting which Sherlock and Jim had sent for him. For a long moment he said nothing, struggling to find the right words for the moment. John and Lestrade stood silently, looking at each other and glancing back and forth at Mycroft, wishing they hadn’t caught the man at the wrong moment. Mycroft took a few deep breaths before he finally broke the awkward silence. “John, I may have pretended not to care but the truth is that I do. Especially my brother, who I miss very much. Just tell me, is he happy? Is he safe? Has he lapsed into a world of crime again?”

 

“No, he hasn’t,” John assured him, “And he is happy.”

 

“He told you?”

 

“I saw it. If he had told me but I didn’t see any evidence, I wouldn’t have even considered his opinion. We know Sherlock, he can be a master at pretending, especially when he is trying to project something to us. But one can’t pretend 24/7. I saw him even during his off-guard moments and he seemed genuinely happy.”

 

“Sebastian lives with them now?”

 

“Mostly.”

 

“And what does my poor brother do when he is there? Sleep in the spare room? Or do they accommodate him, I mean do they….um….??”

 

Lestrade chipped in, “Myc, I think it’s best if you don’t probe much on your brother’s sex-life.”

 

Mycroft nodded, “Yes, yes of course. Sorry.”

 

“I think I will get you that tea,” Lestrade said, “It will help.”

 

“Thanks,” Mycroft swallowed heavily and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, “I think that’s a jolly good idea. I do need some tea right now. Oolong please darling, no milk or sugar.”

 

As soon as Greg Lestrade had left the room, John raised an eyebrow at Mycroft, “Go on, ask.”

 

Mycroft fidgeted with his hands and, like he usually did when he needed to ground himself or stay composed, picked up his faithful umbrella and caressed the handle. “I couldn’t ask in front of Greg, he sort of feels insecure,” he began with much trepidation, “So then….how is he? I mean James.”

 

“Of course you do,” John smiled broadly, “That question about lapsing into the world of crime was for him, wasn’t it?”

 

When Mycroft nodded, John pulled out some photographs on his mobile phone and showed it to the Iceman. “I think these clicks will tell you there are some very positive and encouraging changes in him,” the doctor said, “After all they say one shouldn’t believe what they hear but what they see!” He snickered as they stared at the pictures of Jim in the midst of rather unlikely activities for a criminal mastermind. There was one where he was working out on the treadmill, another one in cycling gear and helmet pushing hard on a dirt bike trail, a third one of Jim on a canoe with a silly pineapple hat on his head, a rather fetching one of Jim fishing and sulking because his basket was more or less empty.

 

“He looks…..normal,” Mycroft murmured.

 

“He isn’t,” John warned, “He never will be. But is he under control? Has he changed? Is he enjoying this retired life? The answer is yes.”

 

“Does he….did he….?”

 

“He asked about you. I said you were doing well, things were as usual, no changes or developments other than Greg and you living together right now.”

 

“Did he think it was a rebound?”

 

“No, he didn’t say that. Is it?”

 

Mycroft didn’t answer and John didn’t push him for an answer. He remembered what Sherlock had told him back in the United States. _“Some things are better left the way they are.”_

 

***

 

“So,” Mrs. Hudson looked at the 221B living room and the twenty odd people who were inside, walking around, “The Sherlock museum eh?”

 

A bunch of kids were waiting for the next storytelling session with Dr. Watson. John lived with Anthea, or Anita Myers, in a different flat down the street but he visited 221B every day. The flat was now a tourist attraction and drew visitors from England and all over the world.

 

“Yeah, it’s like a homage to a man who had touched many lives in his uniquely freaky ways,” John replied with a chuckle, putting his arm around her, “This is best way to remember him. I know he is out there, I know he is happy with his new life, but it is a fact that Sherlock Holmes will never return to his Baker Street flat again. The world will never hear about Sherlock Holmes again. The only way we can keep his memories alive is by spreading the legend far and wide.”

 

“Yes,” Mrs. Hudson said, looking rather excited, “And I am glad to have been part of it.”

 

They had remodeled and redecorated the flat Sherlock and John used to share. There was merchandize and displays, storytelling and simulations sessions and photo opportunities. Most of them were about Sherlock but some were about Moriarty. John knew he couldn’t create the legend of Sherlock Holmes without the good old-fashioned villain James Isaac Moriarty. The Irishman had been right, be it a fairytale or a modern day urban legend, a sensational bestseller or the typical Hollywood potboiler, no hero could be a hero unless he had a worthy adversary.

 

“Here we go kids,” John sat down on an armchair in the middle, beckoning them all to pull their chairs closer. The kids immediately complied but John got a bit distracted as he looked at the painting on the wall, the one Jim had made and gifted to him. Sherlock in his trademark detective pose, fingers steepled under his chin and his green-eyed gaze steady and focused inwardly on a theory building in his head.

 

“Start please,” one little boy said,

 

“Sure,” John said, shaking himself out of his reverie, “His name was Sherlock Holmes……”

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the hits, comments, kudos, compliments and critique.

**Author's Note:**

> Pure Sheriarty. Characters might be ooc at times. Updates will be a bit slow and not my usual pace. Please leave comments and feedback if you can, if you wish, so posting the story's updates doesn't feel like a 'monologue' with AO3.


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